Left Behind
by CrazyRodeoGirl
Summary: Nicky Parsons was prone to making mistakes, but out of all of them, three stood out as the worst. The first was to work at Treadstone. The second was always forgetting to scream. The third was to fall in love with Jason Bourne.
1. Trying to Forget

**Right, this is my first fan fiction, so don't kill me if you hate it. I'm open to constructive criticism though. I may take some time updating, as I have a busy life, but don't worry if I take a while, I'll always come back!**

**I don't own the Bourne series, and, naturally, none of the character except for the ones I make up. So don't sue me!**

Nicky followed Jason Bourne to the bus station in a daze. Her chest still ached a bit from where Desh had hit her, but she wasn't worried. She had felt far worse in her short life.

He stopped and she walked a step past him before slowly turning to face him. Jason met her eye for a moment, and then looked at the bus behind her. He's not going to say goodbye, Nicky. She silently reprimanded herself. What was she expecting? A hug, for God's sake? She took a breath then turned and walked towards the bus.

"It gets easier."

A bit surprised, she looked at him. His gaze held hers, unwavering and steady, but as cold as ever. For one long moment, she paused. She wanted to run to him, to say something, anything to break that cold stare, but she couldn't. Her shyness had kicked in, preventing her from making a sound. So she boarded the bus instead.

She glanced at her reflection in the window as she walked to a vacant seat near the back of the bus. She almost didn't recognize the pale, dark haired woman who stared back. But then she saw the fear that was always lying behind the dark eyes. It was her, all right.

"What? Are you too scared, Parsons? Why am I even asking? Of course you are! You always are!" A familiar mocking voice called from the back of her head, where she locked away her old memories. Nicky bowed her head as she sat down, trying not to let them come. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jason walk away from the station. Resting her head on the glass, she kept her eyes closed as the bus left Tangier, bound for Rabat, the capital of Morocco, where she could catch a plane. She wasn't sure where which plane she would take, but she thought maybe Asia would be a good place to go; she wanted nothing to do with Europe right now, and America was too risky.

Nicky sighed. She knew better than to fall asleep, but she couldn't help it…she was too tired…

_"Parsons!"_

_Nicky winced as Conklin practically blew the door to her apartment off its hinges as he stormed in. "Yes sir?"_

_"Where are those files on Riley?"_

_"Here." She pushed a large stack of papers towards him. "I got everything I could find – bills, hotels, phone numbers…"_

_"Good. What about the others? Got any names?"_

_"Um…" Nicky looked through the other sheets that lay scattered over her desk. "Here we are, but it's not half as good as Riley's. I got some names and passports, but if there really are five of them, then we have two that aren't on the grid."_

_"Great, this is just fantastic. Riley could have just gone rouge like everyone else, but no – he's got to form is own little group and come back at us!" Conklin pounded the desk with his fist, making Nicky jump a little._

_"Can't we just send an asset after him? Get him out of the picture?"_

_"Wouldn't I have done it already if that was an option?" Conklin snarled, "No, because he'll put the asset out of the picture faster! This guy was a high ranking member of the CIA, for Christ's sake! The only thing he doesn't know about Treadstone is the names and locations of the assets, which would really defeat the purpose of sending an asset after him, wouldn't it?"_

_Nicky was used to Conklin by now, and she was untouched by his little hissy fit. She was just about to tell him that she knew all of this, as she too had read Riley's file, when another figure brushed through the door. "Sir?"_

_"Bourne. Sit down; I'll deal with you in a minute."_

_Jason nodded and crossed the room to a chair. He brushed by Nicky, acknowledging her with a quick nod. "Parsons."_

_She returned the gesture. "Bourne."_

_"Okay, give me the names of his…Damn it." Conklin growled as his cell phone rung. He flipped it open, walking to a corner of the room. "Conklin."_

_While Conklin talked, Nicky quietly shifted though the papers, coming to a picture of a muscular man with short grey hair. Connor Riley, ex-marine, served as deputy director of the CIA for seven years before having a nervous breakdown and going rouge. He was gearing up at Treadstone, according to his last contact, and his plan involved terminating assets. Nicky had brushed with clinically insane people on numerous occasions, so she knew just how unpredictable Riley was going to be. This was just a little bit scary for all of them._

_A noise on her left made her look up. Bourne was staring at her. He nodded at the picture she was looking at. "Riley?" He asked in a low voice. Nicky nodded and passed it to him. He studied it for a long moment, and then handed it back to her._

_Conklin snapped the phone shut. "That was Danny." He said, running a hand through his grey hair. "Riley's going to be in Paris in two hours. The CIA can't get a grab team in fast enough – they want us to keep him under surveillance until they arrive."_

_"What's the catch?" Nicky asked quietly. She knew the look on his face, and it meant bad news._

_"We can't use any sort of hidden cameras or ordinary tails – he'll be expecting them. No assets either, under these circumstances. A well disgusted tail may work, but there's always a risk…"_

_"Couldn't he torture the tail for information?"_

_"Congratulations, Nicky – you've managed to see one of the dilemmas. But he would recognize the faces too…he would think that anyone who looked at him for longer then two seconds is a threat, for God's sake!"_

_Nicky rolled her eyes, thinking that Conklin wouldn't notice._

_He did._

_"Don't you roll your eyes at me, missy!" He roared, making her jump. "You look like a goddamn teenager when you do that! I…" He stopped suddenly, looking at her with wide eyes._

_Nicky could practically see the light bulb lighting up above his head. "Sir…?"_

_"Take that clip out of you hair."_

_"What?" Nicky was bewildered. She shot a glance at Bourne, but he looked almost as confused as she was._

_"Just do it."_

_Where was he going with this? She took out the clip that held back her blond hair and let some of it fall over her face. Conklin's eyebrows rose. "Roll your eyes again."_

_Nicky complied, still confused. Conklin nodded. "It might just work…" He murmured, stepping back._

_"Sir, I hate to say it, but what the hell is going on?"_

_"You don't look a day over seventeen when you do that, and I'll bet if we found a good enough outfit, it would get even more convincing."_

_Nicky's jaw fell open. Was he serious? "Sir, you have got to be kidding me."_

_"When was the last time I told a joke?"_

_"Let me get this straight…you want me to dress up as a teenager, walk out there, and follow around a maniac that we just declared was prone to torturing people?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You're drunk."_

_Jason spoke up. "Actually, you would easily pass for a teenager on the street. I wouldn't be able to pick you out." Nicky whirled to look at him. Was that a tiny smile she saw?_

_Nicky sat back. "Great, just fantastic." She muttered, running a hand through her hair. If Bourne couldn't picj her out as a tail, then she must be convincing enough to dupe Riley, but…_

_"Well, are you going to do it, or do you not have the guts?"_

_Nicky sighed again. "Do I have a choice?"_

Nicky jolted awake as the bus rolled to a halt. For a moment she was confused, her mind stuck in the past. Then she remembered: she was on a bus bound for Rabat, away from Tangier, away from Jason Bourne, away from Blackbriar.

Or so she hoped.

She wondered why the bus had stopped. They hadn't arrived yet. According to her watch, the bus had only been on the road for half an hour; a full four and a half hours short of what the trip should have took. She sat up to look over the seats to see the windshield. Instantly, her blood ran cold.

Blue and red flashing lights infested the road before her. Oh God, they found me. She thought in a panic. Could she get away if she smashed a window? No, that was ridiculous. She slumped back in her seat. Maybe she could hijack a squad car and make a break for it, should worst come to worst.

To her intense relief, the bus suddenly lurched forwards and continued on its way. As it passed, Nicky quietly observed the three car crash site, with four police officers keeping things in order and directing traffic. Then it passed behind her, out of sight and out of mind.

Rubbing her forehead, she thought back to the dream. That particular occurrence had been almost three years ago – back when Treadstone was running without a single glitch to its name. She had been different then…very different. The woman who had the nerve to roll her eyes at her angry boss and found maniacs just a tiny bit scary was a world away from the shy, scared woman that she had become. One traumatic experience had almost reversed her persona. Instantly, memories of dark rooms, angry voices, pain, and panic filled her head. Nausea hit her as she pushed them back, wanting nothing to do with her past.

Nicky looked out the window and focused on her future instead. She had decided to head for Hong Kong – she knew that big cities were better than small ones when it came to hiding. There were more hiding places and more distractions in a large, overpopulated place like China, and she was far less likely to be noticed or remembered. That, and she wanted to get far away from the storm Bourne had kicked up, which was likely to go to America. A pang of homesickness shot through her as she remembered New York City, where she was born and raised. She would give anything to go back, but she knew that the big city that she called home would soon be the eye of the storm…Bourne would be headed that way as well.

Bourne. She missed him too. Nicky sighed and ran a hand through her hair. How many times had he saved her now? If she counted Berlin and Paris, where he had spared her life when he shouldn't have, then the total came to five times. He did care about her, that much had been made clear. Or was that only because he knew that she knew more about him, and she was a priority to keep alive? No. He would have interrogated her in Tangier had that been the case.

Stop it, Nicky! You're not going to get yourself anywhere by torturing yourself with questions that you can't even begin to answer! She mentally reprimanded herself. He didn't remember her, and that was all that mattered. She had to move on too…she had been hanging on to his memory for too long. She looked out the window, watching the crescent moon above her.

A twisted smile appeared on her lips. She couldn't help but see the irony – while Jason struggled to remember, she was desperately trying to forget.

**Sorry it's so short!! Please review, I appreciate it!**


	2. Trauma

**Forgot to mention, there's some MAJOR spoilers for all three movies. So if you haven't seen the movies, them why the hell did you click on the Bourne Identity/Supremacy fan fiction link?**

**But, back to all seriousness, here's the second chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Nicky felt half dead when she finally stumbled out of the Hong Kong airport and into the street. The five hour bus ride had been immediately followed by a sixteen hour flight that she had to congratulate herself on surviving through. Despite her resentment for flying, thanks to a mild case of claustrophobia, she had a sinking feeling that she was going to have to pull a stunt like that again in the near future.

She dragged herself to the street, and hailed a cab. "Where to?" The man's heavily accented voice reached her ears in the back.

"You know a good motel?"

"Yes – It'll cost fifteen dollars to get there."

"Sounds like a deal."

The cab drove her for about ten minutes to a little motel near the airport, but closer to a bus station. _Perfect._ She paid the fee of fifteen American dollars, then got out.

Nicky slowly walked across the street and through the front door, and was greeted by a receptionist, a friendly woman with flawless English. "Hello! You want a room?"

"Yeah. Just for the night."

"And your name is?"

"Casey Smith" Nicky answered. It was one of her false identities that she had created a few years back. Smith had to be the most common last name on earth, which was why she had chosen it. She watched closely as the woman quickly checked her in.

"Okay, you're in room 6. Have a good night!"

"Thank you." Managing a tiny smile at the woman, Nicky shouldered her bag and walked to her room. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the receptionist pick up her cell pone, dial a number, and started talking in Chinese. Nicky had tried her best to learn the language, but it had never been something that she could completely wrap her head around.

Upon closing and locking the door, she promptly collapsed across the small bed. The room itself wasn't very large, but she was in Hong Kong. She didn't really expect any space. She closed her eyes to shut out the growing claustrophobia. She couldn't afford to worry about that now.

Behind closed eyelids, she watched pictures flash through her mind. Bourne. The Professor. One of Riley's men, whose name she never learned. Riley. Conklin. Danny Owens. Bourne again. Her own face, reflected in a mirror.

Then came the video clips.

Nicky was too exhausted to fight back the horrors of her past tonight. For the first time in years, she allowed them to fall over her like a dark blanket.

* * *

_Nicky was leaning against the window of a Paris bakery, waiting for Danny Owens to call and tell her where to go. She was enjoying the mid-summer heat, but still watched the street out of the corner of her eye. She was wearing more eyeliner and mascara than she'd had since adolescence, faded jeans with holes in the knees, skateboarder shoes, and a tight black tee-shirt. Her cell phone rested in her pocket, set on vibrate so that she could fake a call if she needed too. She looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of her reflection. She couldn't help but stare. Conklin may have been a mean, sexist pig, but he was never wrong. She looked to be seventeen at the most._

_Suddenly, a shopkeeper waddled out the door, catching her off guard. Waving a broom at her, he screamed, "Obtenez loin de mon magasin, vous bon pour rien gosse!" Roughly translated, he was calling her a good-for-nothing brat, and telling her to go away._

_"Faites-moi. Vous pourriez employer l'exercice. " She replied smartly._

_The baker's face turned a peculiar shade of purple. Maybe I should have left his weight out of it…Nicky beat a quick retreat, ducking to avoid the broom that was swung at her head multiple times before his lack of fitness caught up to him._

_Once she was safely away, Nicky sat down on a bench and sadly looked at a café that she usually liked to go to on the other side of the street. She would have given anything for a cup of coffee, but she had to stay put. She was still in trouble from the eye-roll, however useful it may have been. Her cell phone suddenly shook, making her jump. She quickly pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open. "Bonjour?"_

_"Congratulations Nicky – You just outran a fat baker! Let's see if you can beat a rogue agent!" Nicky recognized Danny's voice and rolled her eyes again. He had always seemed to be fond of teasing her when Conklin wasn't listening. She just hoped that he wasn't trying to hit on her._

_"Pierre, j'ai pensé que je vous ai dit de cesser de m'appeler."_

_"You're thinking of me as a boyfriend? How sweet. Conklin'll love this…"_

_"Fermé vers le haut."_

_"You're really no fun at all. Riley's entering the square from the south entrance. Get down there."_

_"Je vous verrai là." Nicky snapped the phone shut. She hoped that her improvised cover as a French teenager dealing with a clingy ex-boyfriend was convincing. No one seemed to be staring at her suspiciously, so she wove through the crowd, reaching a bench where Conklin had told her to sit if Riley came though the south entrance._

_She sat down and quietly watched everyone walk by. She pulled out her cell phone and pretended to text message a friend, just to keep her cover. As she waited, old advice from a high school drama teacher came back to her, "Always know what you character wants in a scene. It could be the other guy's wallet or it could be your spouse's apology, but everyone has something that they want. If you don't know, then you aren't in character, and you'll wind up with dear air." The advice had been for improv acting, but she found herself applying it to her won situation, as she knew she would need it. She was a teenage girl, and she wanted to get rid of her ex-boyfriend. Simple enough…except if she hesitated, she would be punished with a slow, gruesome death rather than a low mark._

_She looked up, and there he was – a tall, grey haired man that walked with purpose and radiated control and power. Three men followed him closely but no one else seemed too interested in him. Not one of them glanced at her._

_Nicky pulled out her phone and punched in Danny' number, being careful to keep her eyes away from the target._

_"Owens."_

_Nicky was careful to examine her nails as she chattered away in French, although to a best friend. "Hi Melissa, I'm sorry but I can't hang out tomorrow. My mom's inviting one of her friends over, and she has three sisters who are coming too. Apparently I have to be there."_

_"Good. You recognize any of them?"_

_"Yeah, they'll notice if I sneak out! They're not blind!"_

_"What about those other two that you talked about?"_

_"Maybe they're imaginary friends, did you ever consider that?"_

_"Okay, Conklin says to follow them, but make damn sure you keep your distance. Oh, and you should probably know…there's a tiny possibility that Delta might show up." _

_"Quoi?!" Bourne's codename caught Nicky off guard. _Why the hell…

_"Him and Conklin got into an argument – he didn't think you had enough protection or something like that. He stormed out, and we haven't seen him since. Not that we've really been looking." Danny added._

_"…okay. Talk to you later." Nicky hung up, mind in a whirl. So Jason didn't' think she had enough protection. She felt warm inside as she pondered the fact that he was worried about her. She had never really admitted it to herself, but she was slightly attracted to him. He cared more about her than Conklin did, or any of the others, for that matter. At first, she had just appreciated the fact that he didn't want to strangle her…but lately, her attitudes had changed…she had wanted more…_

No, no, no. _She quickly brought herself back to earth. _You've got enough problems as it is! Stop fantasizing about a frigging ASSASSIN!

_Nicky shook her head, stood, and walked away, in the same direction she had seen Riley go. She quickly caught sight of them through the crowd, but was careful to keep her eyes slightly averted to avoid suspicion._

_All of a sudden, they were gone. Bewildered, Nicky cast a quick glance around. _Where-? _Then she ran straight into someone's extremely solid back._

_"Oi! Montre où vous allez!!" A rough voice snapped. Nicky looked up, and found herself looking into the terrifyingly cold eyes of none other than Connor Riley._

_"Désolé." She squeaked, and quickly walked around him, and into the shelter of the crowd._

_Her heart was racing. Had he seen through the disguise? Was there a concealed pistol pointed at the back of her head right now? Was this going to be her last thought before she died? Nicky wanted to run like hell was rising up, but she managed to walk to the outskirts of the crowd, then fall behind so she could catch sight of him again. But he had disappeared again. _Damn it.

_Her cell phone jumped to life in her pocket, and she quickly flipped it open. "Oui?"_

_"Parsons, get out of there."_

_Bourne's voice was the last thing she was expecting, and it knocked her off guard. But when she processed what he had said, her mind revved into high gear. "Huh?"_

_"Right now, get the hell out of there. There's two men at six and seven o'clock, they've been watching you the whole time. You have to move now!"_

_Nicky looked at her reflection in a window, or rather, over her reflection's shoulder. Instantly, her blood ran cold. There, behind her, were two solidly built men pushing though the crowd, eyes trained on her back so intently that she thought she could feel four holes being drilled. "Jesus Christ…"_

_"You've been compromised. Meet me at the corner of 11th and 3rd, I'll end it. Keep your phone on vibrate." There was a click, and the line went dead._

_Nicky put the phone back in her pocket and wove through the crowd, desperately trying to evade them and keep whatever shred of cover she had left. She felt some comfort in the fact that she could run at full speed in these shoes, and she probably knew the city better than they did._

_She turned off the busy square into a side street that led to the intersection Bourne had talked about. She was about halfway down it when a dark figure charged into the street in front of her. At the same time, she heard running footsteps behind her. Instantly, she was at a dead sprint, turning down another road to shake them off. She heard the three pursuers coming after her, keeping up with her relentless pace without much difficulty._

_Panic welled up in her. She was royally screwed. These men could probably outrun her by at least a mile, and, when they caught up, she would be no match for them at all. All she had going for her was intelligence, and she hadn't seen an opportunity to use it yet. In short, she needed help, and she needed it now._

_Suddenly, an alleyway caught her attention. She knew that it forked off, leading into two separate directions. A plan took form in her mind. _I can get rid of them if I play my cards right. _Elated, she galloped into the back alley, and instantly whirled on the spot and vaulted herself behind a dumpster. At the same time, she took off one of her shoes and tossed it away, then crouched down behind the steel box. Working hard to make her panting silent, she listened as the men turned a corner and exclaimed in surprise. She knew exactly what they saw: an abandoned alley with two separate ways that their prey could have gone, and evidence that it had been there – the abandoned shoe, apparently ran right out of._

_"Where'd she go?"_

_"Dunno…Bob, go that way. Chris, that way. I'll keep looking around here in case she tried to throw us. Don't stop looking until you find her or one of us calls. Go."_

_Heavy footfalls told her that two were gone, but she heard the third searching for her. Bob…Robert Duncan. Former military. One of the three men that she had found out. _'Chris' and this guy must be the ones I couldn't dig up._ She mused, then shook her head – this was no time for names!_

_Grabbing a nearby shovel, she slowly peeked around the corner. His back was to her, and he was looking though a bunch of trash cans. Apparently, he hadn't thought to look behind the dumpster. Nicky set her teeth, stood, and slowly snuck up behind him, stepping back into her shoe along the way. Raising the shovel, she fervently hoped it would be enough to send him out long enough for her to get away._

_All of a sudden, he turned and grabbed the shovel just as she was going to bring it down on his head. Panicked, Nicky struggled to get away, but he just pulled her closer. Then he looked into her eyes and said a few words that turned the world on it's head._

_"Code in: Alpha37509. Ruby."_

_For a moment, Nicky's mind went absolutely blank. He knew her code in and distress code. Then the fact that he had used her distress code processed._

_The shovel clanged to the ground._

_His fist shot out at her face, but she recovered in time to deflect it and dodge another blow to the face. But she wouldn't be able to overpower him –she knew that for a fact. She attempted to flee again, but a strong arm grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back. "BOB! CHRIS! I'VE GOT HER!"_

_"NICKY!" The roar surprised her attacker almost as much as it surprised her. Then a shadow fell over her, and the arm released her. Nicky stumbled away, then turned to see Bourne and the other man in the middle of a fist fight. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun – the other man was no match for him._

_Giving his unconscious opponent a kick, Bourne turned to her. "Are you hurt?"_

_"…I-I don't think so."_

_"Good – he wouldn't be happy if you were." Nicky was angry at herself even as she heard the deep voice that wasn't Bourne's. There were five men, not three, which left two that could be coming. And the other two would have heard the other man yell, Bourne's voice, put together what was happening, and come running. Correct to her suspicions, two men dove into the alley. Bourne was quick to respond, but these men were better trained than the first. He wouldn't be able to hold these ones off for very long._

_Her mind was suddenly brought back to her own plight as an arm wrapped around her abdomen and a hand clamped over her mouth. Instantly, she started screaming and thrashing, but to no avail. Her attacker was too strong. Before her terrified eyes, her orignal pursuer picked himself up off the ground, shook his head, and dove into the fight. Bourne couldn't help her. She was on her own._

_There was a sudden sound of an engine behind her, and she heard a trunk pop open. A car. Their car. _No! Oh God, please, no! _She thrashed harder than ever, desperate to escape._

_There was a pause, then something sharp hit her arm. A needle._ No! nonononononoNO! _The strength drained out of her legs even as total terror overcame her. She was tossed into a small, dark space, and saw Jason push one of the men away. He looked up and his deep blue eyes met hers. He took a step forward._

_Nicky was almost unconscious, thanks to the drug. But something inside her came alive when she saw him. If they caught him, they would kill him. That was what Riley wanted. She couldn't let it happen…not to him._

_With the last of her strength, she raised her head and screamed "NO! GO BACK! THEY'LL KILL YOU! LEAVE ME BEHIND, JUST GO!"_

_He stopped, and those eyes met hers again. And for a moment, he wasn't just an asset trying to protect his country._

_He was something far more complex._

_Then he was gone, and the trunk of the car closed. But she didn't mind the darkness – the last of her strength failed, and she was sliding into oblivion that the damn drug had created._

_Her last though was strange – a random fact that came to her mind just as darkness overcame her._

That's the first time he's ever called me by my first name...

* * *

Nicky brought herself back to reality with some difficulty. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling as the memories slowly drained away. Some part of her had died in the three days that had followed – she had never acted or thought the same way again, and she had suddenly found herself haunted by paranoia and claustrophobia ever since. She hadn't been very old – just a few months over twenty-one. She had been working at Treadstone for a little over a year when Conklin had sent her out.

She closed her eyes and stifled a tiny sob as she remembered the look in Jason's eyes. He had worried about her then, as she had later learned – and his argument with Conklin had been mostly about her being too young to be in such danger – she had looked like a teenager because she was just barely an adult. If he wasn't nine years her senior, she might have been offended. But she had been too surprised by his compassion to care.

But that Jason was long gone – killed by amnesia and hate.

Her back itched, bringing her mind back to the present again. The memories had brought back physical pain too. Sighing, Nicky got up and dragged herself to the bathroom. Pulling off her shirt, she tuned her back to the mirror and surveyed it over her shoulder. The long scar that ran from the bottom of her left shoulder blade to her right hip seemed redder than usual, as if the memories had aggravated it somehow. She winced as another image attacked her brain, this one of a flash of silver, a scream, and a roar of fury.

She pushed it back. She wasn't going the right direction if she wanted to get some sleep tonight as it was.

Something moved. Nicky only saw it out of the corner of her eye, but it instantly put her on high alert. She swiftly pulled the old shirt over her head, and darted to the corner behind the doorframe. She listened intently, but there was only silence. Then she heard it – breathing, then the sound of someone popping the clip. Her heart stopped. _Shit. How did they find me so fast? _The desk clerk. She had picked up her cell phone when Nicky had left. _That little rat. _But her stalker was an agent, not an asset. She could tell just by the fact that she was still alive. It was a grab team. In a way, that was worse than an asset.

Nicky was in major trouble, and she knew it. She didn't have a gun with her; if she had, she wouldn't have made it onto the plane. If she could overpower the agent, then she might be able to steal his and get away…assuming that there was only one. If there were more than two, then she might as well come out with her hands up and hope for the best.

But she had no intention of going down without a fight.

Footsteps. A shadow moved on the other side of the open door. Nicky pressed herself into the corner between the wall and the door's hinges as a dark figure slowly moved into the room. Her size, dark short hair, a dark jacket, a semi-automatic pistol in one hand and a syringe in the other. Definitely male. Nicky formulated a quick plan, drew herself up, and made her move.

She threw a quick blow to the back of his head to slow him down, grabbed the syringe, and stuck it into the back of his neck just as his gun swung around. She grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the wall to disarm him, but he was already unconscious. The drug was far faster than she had expected.

She grabbed the gun and pointed it out the door. Instantly, another one came at her. But Nicky was ready for it, and she knew how to defend herself. A right hook to the face and a knee to the groin sent him down. She used the handle of the gun to send him out, and then looked over them both. They looked local, but a tag beneath her second opponent's jacket told her that they were CIA. _How the hell did the get in here so fast? It should have taken them at least…Nicolette Parsons, you MORON!_ Of course! There was a CIA substation in Hong Kong! That's how they found her and got in so fast!

"How could you have been so blind?" She cursed aloud as she grabbed her bag and checked it for a tracking device. None, she was clear. She tossed on her jacket and threw the bag over her shoulder.

She climbed out the window and lightly dropped to the ground, being sure to avoid any other windows. The last thing she needed was to be seen. Nicky checked her watch. 1:30 am, local time. She wasn't going to go to the Hong Kong airport again. That was too risky. She was headed for the bus station. She would find a city with an airport, and use a different passport. Maybe her Russian one.

Nicky had already made up her mind on where she was going to go from there before she hit the street. Like it or not, she was dead sick of the East in general. It had been three years since she had been in that country, and it was risky, but not half as risky as Hong Kong had become.

Nicky Parsons was headed home.

* * *

**If you were surprised by Nicky's age, don't worry – I was too. That's what it said in the movie, if you don't believe me, read her file – they briefly show it in the Supremacy when she talks to Landy and Tom for the first time, and again in the Ultimatum when one of the technicians brings it up when she picks up the phone. She was born on March 28, 1979, and Bourne was inducted into Treadstone on June 1st, 1999. Not too old, huh?**

**Oh and the french traslations during Nicky's flashback are "Get away from my shop, you good-for-nothing brat!", "Make me - You could use the exerscise.", "Pierre, I thought I told you to stop calling me.", "Shut up.", "See you there.", "Oi! Watch where you're going!", and "Sorry." I used Word's translator, but we all know that it isn't that accurate, so don't shoot me if none of it makes gramatical sense.**

**Thanks for all your reviews, I really do appreciate it! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, but try to be kind.**


	3. Paranoia and Plotting

**Right, a couple of corrections – Danny Owens is actually Danny Zorn, I got the last name wrong; and in the first chapter, I meant 'rogue agent' not 'rouge agent'. I hate the auto-correct on Word beyond all description. **

**In any case, here is the third chapter of this little fanfic. Enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

Nicky Parsons looked around and vowed never to board a plane ever again…by free choice, at least. There were no screaming children and she was sitting beside the window with no one leaning on her or crowding her, but what was bothering her had nothing to do with the usual problems associated with flying. It was the paranoia that had set in. A glance in her direction left her suspicious and scared. Someone moved behind her and she started so violently that a passing stewardess looked at her with concern. She checked her watch. They would land in about four hours. Way too long for her.

She fidgeted and looked out her window. It was a cloudless day, and she could see the Pacific Ocean stretched out beneath her for as far as she could see. Nicky sighed. Any other day she would have appreciated the beautiful sparkling blue water, but her mind was too focused on the burning anxiety in the back of her mind. She still wasn't sure if going to America was the best idea she had ever had, or even if her mode of transportation had been the best choice. Her claustrophobia was closing in yet again, and a plane, as she was well aware, is hell on earth for a claustrophobic person.

Nicky ran a hand through her hair and desperately tried to think about something else. **Anything** else.

_"Easy…easy…I'm here, you're alright…He's gone…Stop crying, I'm here, it's all going to be okay…"_

Her hand froze on her head. Not that kind of anything. But Jason's words were already cutting through her consciousness like a knife. She sighed as they started to fade away again. She owed him her life, several times over, she mused, rubbing her chest, which was still on the sore side. What had she been thinking, attacking an assassin that could have snapped her neck in a second? Bourne could have saved himself; he was older and more experienced than Desh, if not as nimble. What sort of crazy notion could have made her get up from the ground, launch herself across the room, and pull his head sideways in order to get him off Bourne?

He would have done the same for her, she mentally reasoned to no one in particular. She must have felt some kind of obligation.

_Or was it something else? _A voice whispered to her mockingly. _Do you have feelings for him? Of course you do, don't deny it._ Nicky looked out the window and sighed, because she couldn't deny it. She did have strong feelings towards him; there was no denying that much. It was just identifying the feelings that was hard…

Nicky closed her eyes. Did she love him or hate him? As she thought, she realized that there was a very thin line separating love and hate. Most people thought of them as complete opposites, non-compatible with each other, but in fact, that was not at all the case. In a way, she loved him so much it hurt, and she hated him for it. And Marie. Hearing about him and Marie had torn her soul out, but she couldn't even crawl away to cry, because that would have alerted Conklin. In a way, she hated him for that as well, even though she wanted him to be happy…but the reason she had hated him was because she loved him…*

Nicky pushed the thoughts away. She couldn't deal with that now, or wouldn't, deal with that now. She would have to later, though.

She rested her head on the side of the plane, and begged for sleep.

_

* * *

_

Jason Bourne wasn't very susceptible to discomfort. Pain, cold, disorientation…they all fell to the back of his mind at will.

_A useful skill, considering the circumstances,_ Bourne mused to himself as he hauled his cold body out of the Hudson River and onto a stone walkway. The luck of the devil, as some would say, was on his side again. If Vosen had hit him, then the shot had either not gone deep or not hit a vital spot. He had already been falling when Vosen had fired, so everyday statistics and a very old lesson were on his side – it was a lot harder to hit a moving target then a stationary one, and Vosen had probably never been as good with a gun as other men that Jason had faced.

Bourne pulled himself up and limped to an abandoned building that looked like it might have been a decent house at one time. He broke a window and climbed through it, looking around and assessing as always. He couldn't detect any threat, so he continued down a hallway and into a bathroom. To his relief, there was still running water, and he was able to get it running warm enough to clean out any injuries that he might have, and heat up the room a little bit.

Bourne quickly pulled off his jacket, then his shirt, and examined himself. A few newer cuts had re-opened with the impact of hitting the water, there was a very large bruise forming on his back from the impact of the water, and one red line across the top of his shoulder that could have been drawn with a ruler. Vosen's shot had grazed him after all.

He began to clean all of his injuries, starting with the one caused by the bullet. As he worked, Jason's mind wandered. Had Landy managed to get the Blackbriar files to the press? Or had she been stopped? _She's smart, she can look out for herself. _He decided. But, all the same, the blonde woman had done a lot for him, and she would have a lot of enemies when everything blew up. She would need protection, and Bourne had never trusted the CIA or any kind of service they provided. She was the only one left to protect anyways.

_Hold it. Not the only one._

For a moment, a pair of dark, soft eyes flashed in his mind. Then, as their owner spoke, they briefly flashed with hope. _"You really don't remember anything?"_ The spark had instantly died with his response _"No."_

Suddenly, his eye caught motion in the lower corner of the mirror. _BLACKBRIAR! _Alarms went off in his head, sounding first that there was a threat, second that he was unarmed. His weapon was in the training facility. He whirled, ready for a fight.

To his great surprise, is opponent was not an armed assassin ready to put a bullet in his a head, but a rather small calico cat sitting behind him, staring up at him with large eyes. For a moment, the two just blinked at each other. Then Jason chuckled and kneeled, holding out his hand. "You surprised me." The little cat immediately rubbed against his hand, purring loudly. He was surprised by its friendliness. Usually animals didn't seem to like him – he thought they could sense that he was dangerous. It was just that, like people, some chose to ignore it…like Marie had.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and examined the cat closer, in order to avoid the memories. The cat, to his surprise, also only had a small stump for a tail. "Manx." He muttered – he had remembered owning one before his amnesia. He remembered little about it, only that its name was Cricket and he had been fond of it. He didn't know what had happened to it, but he had a feeling that he had given it away. He placed the kitten on the ground, before sitting down and leaning against the wall himself. Miffed at being ignored, the little cat immediately leapt on his lap and curled up, purring loudly. Jason gently ran a hand over its pelt, feeling suddenly like he was not alone anymore.

He leaned back and looked up. He was wondering about David Webb. He wasn't sure if he remembered it or not: his memories, although he figured he had at least half of them back, were still fuzzy and hard to put into chronological order. However, as he thought about it, a memory that had come back while he was with Marie in India returned to his mind. It was distant, more of an impression than an actual memory. A friend, around his age, in a military uniform.

Jason frowned. Now that he thought about it, that didn't make much sense. Jason Bourne didn't have friends, and certainly none that would have been dressed in a military uniform. But hadn't David Webb been a captain at one point? Suddenly hopeful, he concentrated on the memory, trying to glean as much information from it as he could. To his surprise, like a balloon that had put too much pressure put on it, the impression exploded into a full-force flashback.

_"Dammit! David, which button do I press? This web cam is trying to kill me, I swear!" The red-haired man in a military uniform looked like he was trying not to attack the laptop he was seated in front of, an innocent-looking web cam seated beside it.  
_

_"Green button, Rob. Same button it's been for the past four days." David rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page in his book. He could hear buttons being pushed, then a yell of triumph as the screen on the computer flickered, than came to life. He glanced over the book to see the face of a young woman flicker onto the screen, Rob grinning at her apologetically. "Sorry. Where were we?"  
_

Jason blinked as the memory faded from his senses, bringing him back to the present. He felt a bit excited - he had remembered something from before Bourne. Something he could return to. He felt compelled to find this Rob - _Robert, perhaps?_ - he had seen, but knew it would be impossible. He had no idea if the man was even alive. He put his head back and closed his eyes, still petting the cat, trying to think of what to do next.

Suddenly his eyes flew open. _Wait._ He brought up a mental image of the girl that Rob had been speaking to over the moody web cam. It did look familiar. He ran it against the data bases of memory that he had stored in his head. In seconds the cold machine that was Bourne's mind came up with a match. A small girl with blond hair and dark eyes that rarely smiled.

_"You really don't remember anything?"_

Jason let out the air in his lungs, his brain turning over this new development, examining it from all angles. She had gone against her agency and helped him get to Daniels. Then he had put her on a bus and sent her off, hoping she would be all right. But he didn't like hoping. He had no idea if Nicky could passably defend herself. She had attacked Desh, but that particular move had left her on the ground, unconscious.

That moment hadn't made any sense, as Jason thought about it. Desh had chased her through Tangier with full intentions of killing her, which should have left her terrified of him. The pursuit through the old house would have been terrorizing for her, traumatizing even. Desh had been less than six feet away from her when Bourne had gone through the window, and he had nearly shot her when her face became visible when he was fighting. Bourne remembered that the bullet had hit the doorframe right beside her. If she had not fallen and Desh had pointed the bullet four inches to the left, he would have hit Nicky directly between the eyes. So why had she attacked him? In a typical situation like that, she should have been on the floor, paralyzed with fear. As Bourne files though the numerous facts and theories in his mind, one stood out to him. He froze, staring at his reflection in the small mirror. _Of course._

Nicky had attacked because Desh had gained the upper hand in the fight, and Bourne had been losing. She had known that she was no match for the assassin, and had intended to distract him for as long as it took for Bourne to get up. It was a practical move, she would have been finished off quickly if Bourne had been killed, but he was still surprised. She was more courageous than he had originally thought. But if he hadn't been there, that would have been the end of her. Then again, if he hadn't been there, she wouldn't have attacked Desh. She was brave, but not stupid.

Still, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her motives than just practicality. He still remembered the ferocity in her eyes when she had grabbed Desh. The fierce instincts that came with fighting did not completely explain it – she had looked too angry. Although the fact that Desh was hurting him enraged her somehow.

_"It was…difficult for me…with you."_

But _why_?

Jason sighed. He had a choice to make. It would be predictable and dangerous to go looking for her, not to mention hard. She was probably on the other side of the world, hiding under a rock. But he had more questions that needed answering, and he knew she could give them to him.

The choice was finally made before dawn. Bourne got up and set off, a new objective sending him on his way.

* * *

Nicky almost groaned as saw the 'Now Hiring' sign on the little café. On one hand, she needed a job and extra money to help her blend in. But on the other, a waitress was one of the worst jobs a person on the run could get – too many faces, too little security. So she made a mental note, but kept walking.

She had landed in the Marina Municipal Airport, hailed a taxi and paid him to drive her to a nearby hotel that she had found on her computer before taking off, and now was quietly walking down an older street, on her way to her motel. She hadn't ever been to Marina in person before, but she remembered planning to live here when she was fifteen. Everything had changed when the CIA recruited her.

She had been here a full day now, and was just walking around to get a grip on her surroundings. No agents had knocked down her room door yet, but she wasn't about to let down her guard – not after Hong Kong. She felt a little more confident now, as she had found a way to get into an airport without alerting the CIA. She had been stupid enough to use a Treadstone registered passport before, but she was know using an illegally crafted passport that an old friend had made for her. He had been an extreme conspiracy theorist, and he had made her a passport, drivers' license, birth certificate, and a social service number the second he found out that she was working for the government. Horrified, she had tried to reject the papers, but he had made her take them with an ominous "When they turn on you, you'll have somewhere to go. Trust me; you'll thank me for this." She had to chuckle at the irony – that gift was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had no idea how old Jack had done it, but she aimed to track him down and thank him one day. He had probably saved her life. Her new identity was Robin Clark, born in Grand Forks, North Dakota, with a job as a home assistant for an elderly man who had recently died. It was ingenious, she had to admit. The elderly man had been Jack's uncle, and he hadn't every had an assistant, but his only living relative, as well as the only one who had really known anything about him, was Jack, so there was no way to prove that he hadn't had an assistant. She was safe. Or, at least as safe as she would ever get.

She wearily clambered up the steps to the motel balcony, and walked slowly across to her room. She was being careful to avoid the receptionist after the Hong Kong fiasco, but he hadn't really shown much interest in her at all. She had figured that the CIA station would send out warnings with her picture to all the hotels once her passport cleared. He had barely glanced at her either day she had been there.

She opened the door to her room and quickly checked around before she closed it. Madrid had scared her, when Jason grabbed her as she came through the door. She had never been able to open a door without checking behind it since then. She checked all the rooms, and found no signs of life except the cockroaches that she caught scurrying beneath the lobby couch. Not that Nicky minded the little things. For the longest week of her life, they had been the closest thing she to friends she had.

Suddenly exhausted, she flopped onto the bed and flicked on the TV. She switched through the channels, settling for a movie – Die Hard. She watched the old movie for about an hour or so, then turned off the TV, and rolled sideways onto the floor beside her bed, where she figured she was safest.

She had already spent one sleepless night behind the bed, waiting for a S.W.A.T. team, five Blackbriar assets, and Chuck Norris to break down the door. But the night had been still and uninterrupted, much to her surprise. Her paranoia, which only got worse as the sky became darker, had convinced her that the CIA had seen through the fake passport and were on the way to arrest, if not kill her. But no, it was only her and the roaches. The lack of action did nothing to soothe her nerve, however. She would stand guard tonight again.

Nicky leaned against the wall and breathed slowly, eyes fixed on the door, only breaking the gaze to occasionally glance at the windows. Her memories were back under control, thank God. The lack of sleep and hunger had weakened her in Hong Kong and on the plane, but she had eaten a good meal and got three hours of rest before landing in Marina Municipal Airport, so she had just enough to lock the secret pain and suffering back behind a stainless steel door which could only be opened with her conscious permission. Nicky was glad. Nostalgia wasn't something that she could really afford at the present.

She watched he door like a frightened rabbit for hours. She'd had to loose the weapon she stole from Hong Kong, thanks to airport security, so she had to figure out dozens of complex escape plans. If an armed team came in, like in Hong Kong, she'd have to go though the window to her left, outmaneuver any spare agents outside, and head for the little car that she had purchased on her first day. She'd have to go behind buildings and through alleys most likely, but she had memorized the way to the highway, where she could loose them faster. An asset posed more of a threat. Nicky figured that she would roll beneath the bed before being spotted, then bail through the same window as soon as his back was turned. She'd hide beneath the balcony and wait until she was sure the coast was clear, then make a run for the car, hiding behind cars or anything that bullets may have trouble penetrating.

Despite her plans, she knew she had to find a weapon. As much as she could run away, sooner or later, she had to fight back against her assailants. Nicky leaned back and sighed.

It was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Noah Vosen was well aware of the fact that he wasn't a good man. Even if he hadn't been, the two federal guards escorting him to the communications room would have been a good indication. Not that he cared, he quietly mused to himself as the door to the soundproof booth was opened for him and he walked it. Behind the glass that split the room in two was Wills, his old assistant, who smiled slightly when Vosen entered. The proud CIA official seated himself at the desk in front of the glass window. Wills and him looked at each other for one moment, then picked up the receivers at the same time.

"Good afternoon, sir."

Good afternoon, Wills. How are things going for you?"

"Pretty decently, actually. My lawyer managed to pull me out of this mess, thank God. Wish you have faired as well." He added sympathetically.

"Hm. Well, my trial\s coming up soon, my lawyer is working on it. I'm doing all right."

"What was you purpose for calling this meeting, sir?"

"Landy." Vosen spat out the name as if it were a curse. "I want her gone, Out of the picture entirely. The damn woman is just as much to blame as Bourne, if not even more." As far as Vosen was concerned, this was what the agency got for putting a woman so high up in the government. They got emotional and shut down. Vosen didn't trust women any more than he would trust a wolf.

Wills shifted uncomfortably. "Yes sir, about that…we can't find her."

Vosen stared, certain he had misheard. "What?"

"She's off the grid. Gone. No plane tickets out of the country, no passport anywhere, house deserted…the whole deal. I think the damn secret service might be involved, wouldn't that be the final irony if the president himself extended her some protection in return for her 'service to the country'." Wills growled.

Vosen could see that going after Landy was hopeless. If the secret service was involved, even the most honorable of CIA references wouldn't get Wills or anyone else near her. Ever since JFK, the CIA had no power over the secret service. Stupid paranoid bastards. But it wasn't although Landy was his only enemy. "What about Bourne? Did he survive the fall?"

"His body hasn't been found yet."

Which meant yes. Vosen leaned back and evaluated the situation. He wanted to get Bourne out and in the open where he could see him, but, knowing Bourne, that was near an impossible thing to do. He thought for a couple minutes, then an idea hit him. He leaned forwards. "What about that girl?"

"Sir?"

"Parsons. The little traitor girl, the one who ditched us for Bourne. What happened to her?"

Wills nodded. "I did a bit of looking for her too. She tuned up in Hong Kong a couple of days ago, and they sent a grab team in. She eluded them though – there were only two of them and they went in light. She took them both down and got away. We don't know where she is now. I was curious, so I grabbed her Treadstone file." Wills reached beneath the desk and produced a briefcase, which he opened, and produced a file. He pushed the case to one side so that Vosen could see as well, and flipped though. "She was born in New York City in 1979, majored in psychology, inducted into Treadstone at age 20…wow."

Vosen raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't she a little young?"

"Yeah, but they needed someone who would pass for a college student in Paris. She also skipped a few grades, I believe. She handled logistics at Treadstone, monitored mental health, and she was Bourne's local contact." Wills flipped another page, and his eyes widened slightly. "She was kidnapped by a rouge agent in 2000, held captive and tortured for information for 161 hours…that's just a couple hours short of a week. Get this – Bourne went against direct orders from Conklin, took their safe house by storm, killed everyone inside, and brought her back.

"That must have left her in debt to him." Vosen mused. "You think that's why she defected to join him?"

"Maybe, sir…but I think it has more to do with this." Wills leaned forwards. "I spoke to one of the people who lived in Bourne's apartment when he was in Treadstone. He said that he figured Bourne had a relationship. He saw Bourne bring in a girl once – said she must have been real pretty, but she looked like she had gotten the shit kicked out of her. He couldn't remember the exact date, but he figured it was June in 2000. That's about when Parsons was kidnapped. After that, Bourne always left the building every night at around seven o'clock. Sometimes he came back…and sometimes he didn't." Wills chuckled.

Vosen had to as well. "Screwing a girl nine years younger than him? He ought to be ashamed. But this does make things easier for our purposes." Vosen leaned in. "Find out where she is. I'll bet she's come to America. She was born here, and she hasn't been back for around five years. She'll be homesick. Once you find her, get a grab team and send them in. I'd bet ex-blackbriars would be the most willing to join in – they'll be needing an operation by now. Be sure to bring her in alive, uninjured isn't necessary. Hang an axe over her neck, and see if Bourne takes the bait. He'll be gunning after her, I'd stake this trial on it. When he comes for her, kill them both, then make it look like an accident. You think you can carry this out?"

Wills nodded. "I'll do it, sir. I already have a strategy."

"Good man. Thank you for doing this for me."

"My pleasure, sir."

They hung up the receivers together.

* * *

**Dun dunna nah! It's Cat Boy and Cockroach Girl to the rescue! Teehee, sorry about the Chuck Norris joke, but it was that or a troop of ninjas. I think Chuck Norris was more effective. This story, as of now, also appears to star my cat, Cricket. Watch, she will take down a troop of blackbriars single pawedly. Just watch... :D**

**- The whole love/hate thing is coutesty of MoscoMoon666 on youtube - she was the one who came up with all that emo, but cool, stuff.**

**Chapter 4 will be up momentarily - I am far from giving up on this one! ;)**


	4. Contact

**Sorry this took me so long!! I've been very busy; I'm training two horses as well as all my goddamn homework and a comic I'm writing on Deviant Art.**

**Oh, and just so you guys know, I will be doing some changes to chapter 3 – just found out that Marina has its own airport (head-desk) and some spelling issues. Vosen is staking his TRIAL on this plan, not his TRAIL! (hates autocorrect)**

**In any case, here's the latest installment! I think you lot should find it satisfactory…*evil laugh***

* * *

The tourists wove in and around the little café, chattering about how pretty the beach was, and where they were going shopping next. No one really noticed the small woman sitting alone at a table, much less the fact that she had studied each of them intensely as they went by.

Nicky felt less paranoid now, much to her own relief. She had survived the second night here with no threats, and vowed to get some sleep tonight. She was sitting in a café, surrounded by various people and tourists doing their shopping. Crowds made her a little nervous, but she knew it was safer than being alone – an asset was far less likely to strike with this many witnesses about. She returned to the book she was reading, feeling a little more secure.

The peaceful atmosphere was instantly shattered when a sound hit her ears, registered in her brain as familiar, and in a hundredth of a second, realized what was familiar about it. Adrenaline shot through her veins and alarms filled her head. _BLACKBRIAR?!_

As casually as she could manage, Nicky looked up to see where it had come from, and nearly fell out of her chair in relief when she saw the large television nattering on about a CIA conspiracy. Relief quickly turned to surprise and curiosity. The press found out about Blackbriar? Was that even possible?

"…CIA director Ezra Kramer is under criminal investigation for authorizing the program, which, in several cases, may have even targeted U.S. citizens."

_No shit._

"…Two agency officials have already been arrested: Dr. Albert Hirsch, the alleged mastermind of the Blackbriar program…"

Nicky's eyes widened. The man being arrested was barely visible from all the press surrounding him, but the photo displayed in the upper right of the screen was clear. It was the man that Bourne had asked her about in the café out of Madrid, centuries ago. So he had been the mastermind of it all? Nicky still only recognized him from the picture.

"…and CIA Deputy Director Noah Vosen, the program's operational chief."

Vosen… A memory ran through her head – her answering the phone in Neal Daniel's apartment, pretending that there wasn't a gun pointed at her, and a voice on the other end _"Nicky, this is Noah Vosen…"_

So she had lied _directly_ to the deputy director of the CIA, as well as the chief of an international assassination program.

Nicky wondered how she had managed to live this long.

But she couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. Maybe it was over. The press – and, she suspected, Bourne – had just decapitated Blackbriar. It wasn't going to be moving too quickly right now. Feeling a little safer, and maybe just a bit triumphant, she looked down again.

"Meanwhile, mystery surrounds the fate of David Webb…"

Nicky's heart stopped. Her eyes flew back to the monitor. _Did I just hear…?_

"…also known as Jason Bourne, the source behind the exposure of the Blackbriar program…"

Nicky was in shock. _They know his real name? How did that get out? The only reason I knew was…_

She quickly cut off her own thoughts, distracting herself with the question of where he was now. The news anchor quickly answered it for her. "It's been reported that Webb was shot and fell from a Manhattan rooftop into the East River ten stories below."

_Is he…? No, he can't!_ Nicky thought, denying even the possibility that Jason was dead. He had lived through so much…

"However, after a three day search, Webb's body has yet to be found."

Nicky felt a smile one her face. _Of course not. And you won't ever find him._ It would take far more than a bullet and a long fall to bring Bourne down…or maybe Webb now?

She heard some people near her start to talk about the national hero. Not wanting to unintentionally draw attention to herself, she stood, picked up her book, paid her bill, and walked away.

**

* * *

**

Two Weeks Later…

Nicky entered her apartment with more confidence than she had felt in a long time. She had been renting the living space for a while now, paying with cash. She had wound up taking that job at he little cafe that she had seen on her second day, just from a need to use some of the time and earn some extra money.

She walked around the apartment once, making sure that everything was in place. Finally, after deciding that nothing was wrong, she locked the chain on the door, and quickly made and ate a small dinner of microwaveable rice. Then she walked over to her bed, flopping onto it. She had actually managed to get some sleep in the past few days, and she didn't feel so tired anymore. Still, she felt like she could use a nap. Nicky was amazed at how relaxed she felt. Maybe that meant it was time to move on. But still, she wanted to savor the moment – her nerves had calmed at last.

Maybe Bourne was right. Maybe it did get easier.

She pulled out her book and began to read. However, she felt her eyelids begin to droop, and soon she was completely unconscious – at peace at last.

* * *

None of the five men in the old rented apartment would have called this an ordinary job. Not one of them could have said that he was completely comfortable with it either. But an asset does what he is told; none of them were not about to stop that now.

The five men were all high-ranking Blackbriar assets, or at least, they had been. Operation Blackbriar was ancient history now, or at least it felt like it. The media had moved on to only the occasional update, such as the President's firing of Ezra Kramer, or Noah Vosen's trial coming up. Such was why the operational chief thought it was a good idea to strike now, while the world was looking somewhere else. Assets did not normally work together, which was one of the reasons that this was such a strange operation. The second reason was that they were under strict orders to capture, not kill, one of the targets. At least, at first. She was to act as bait until the more dangerous of the two targets revealed himself, then terminate them both and destroy the bodies. This was a strange operation, but none of them questioned it. It was merely an interesting challenge.

None of the men knew any names but their own and the targets. Their code names for this assignment were not even their usual ones the need for secrecy was so great. The men were simply to know each other as Alpha, Sierra, Bravo, Charlie, and Echo.

The asset codenamed Bravo was reclining in an armchair, reading a book. He was quite possibly the oldest asset Blackbriar or Treadstone had ever employed, and it was starting to show in the grey in his hair and lines on his face. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, but only he and a few CIA officials knew his exact age – no one else dared ask. However, he was also the deadliest asset either program had employed since Jason Bourne. His missions were carried out with ruthless accuracy, and each killing was rather vicious – although he harbored a personal grudge against each target. No one but his superiors would ever know, but he did, in a way. Bravo's wife, daughter, and young son had all been killed in New York City on the eleventh of September, 2001. Bravo's mind, already weakened from his many years in the military, had snapped. He had gone to Blackbriar, dismissed from the military and without a purpose, begging for a shot to wreak revenge on the enemies of the United States, who, in his mind, were responsible for the attack. His demeanor had raised a few eyebrows, but his mental state had been cleared fit enough to become an asset, so they welcomed him with open arms. But now, as he fixed his reading glasses, the memories seemed far away, thanks to the numbing effect of his training and his killings.

Alpha stood, causing all eyes to involuntarily flick in his direction. He looked every bit the leader that his codename suggested, which was partially why he had been chosen to lead the team. He had dark hair cut short against his head, and piercing dark eyes that surveyed the world with a calm confidence. He had once been a high-ranking commander in the U.S. Navy, but that time was long gone. Bravo was well over his age, but he respected the tall man. There was an air of charisma to him that no other man that he had ever met could top.

Alpha stretched, and then walked across the room to the surveillance equipment, monitored by Sierra. Sierra was a small man who looked nothing like the assassin that he was. He had never been in the military, and his experience with firearms consisted of shooting a man twice, missing the first time. The truth of it was that, unlike ninety percent of Blackbriar's assets, Sierra did not kill in person – elevator malfunctions, car accidents, medication switches…little 'accidents' that were effective, subtle, and above all, untraceable. Sierra was often more than fifteen miles away from these 'accidents' when they happened: he was an invisible man among invisible men. Now, he was pulling up various video feeds on his computer, searching each one for the target.

Alpha looked over his shoulder. "Has there been any change?"

"No. She's still alone." Sierra pulled up a still image of a small, black haired woman.

Suddenly a loud crash in the kitchen caused the men to jump for the pistols hidden in each one of their coats. At the same time, they noticed that there were four, not five, men in the room.

A tall, tanned man with ruffled blonde hair and bright eyes leaned past the doorway, grinning sheepishly. "Eh, the fridge door isn't stuck anymore." He held up a beer bottle. "Beer's nice and cold, though." Bravo fought an urge to roll his eyes.

Charlie, the blond joker, was an oddity among the assets: he acted although his training had never affected him. Bravo was certain that the assassin had worked as a stand up comedian at least once. He took his missions seriously and nothing else. His bright blue eyes always shone with inner laughter, as if he found the world around him hilarious. Charlie had been in for numerous exams and tests for this reason – the CIA hadn't been sure whether he was insane or unaffected by the training. However he passed each test and never failed a mission, which was all they really needed. Bravo imagined by this time, the CIA officials just shrugged at his unusual demeanor and carried on.

Now, the blonde man walked into the room, waving his beer. "Anyone else want some?"

Bravo shrugged. "Yeah, I'll take one."

Sierra and Alpha nodded their consent. The fifth man in the room was looking out the window when Charlie entered. Only now did he stir. "Sure."

Echo was the last, and in many ways the least, member of the team. He was shorter than the rest of them and thin, with dark hair that fell short of his grey eyes, which were cold enough to make even the other assets uneasy – there was an almost evil quality to them. In truth, Echo was the only one out of the assets who could be classified as evil. Blackbriar had brought him out of prison to serve as an asset after he had caught an escaping inmate. He had an impressive military record, but it was smeared by five accounts of first degree murder, sexual assault, and kidnapping. But he had made an excellent asset, and he was deemed 'controllable' by his handler. But this did nothing to help him in this group: even in the most twisted murderer can agree that there is nothing lower than a rapist, and the assets were a great deal more honorable than a simple murderer. The rest of the group had been informed about Echo's past for the simple reason that the target was female, but this had resulted in him becoming the lowest ranking member of the group, Alpha being the highest and Bravo second. Oddly, Echo did not seem to care about the rankings, intensifying the aura of danger that surrounded him.

Charlie re-entered the room, throwing everyone a bottle of beer. Bravo deftly caught his, and opened it. As he drank, he noticed Charlie watching Echo open his, struggling to hide a grin. Bravo considered warning his co-worker, but stopped and leaned back. It would be excellent entertainment.

The unsuspecting Echo took a swig of the liquid, and instantly gagged, spitting it all over the floor. "What the hell was that?!"

Charlie burst into a truly evil cackle. "Fruit juice and vinegar, anyone?" He snickered.

Echo looked like someone had slammed him with a frying pan – the most emotion anyone had seen him display. "It was closed!" He sputtered. "How did you switch it?"

"Switched the top." Charlie pulled a handful of unbent beer bottle caps out of his pocket. "You should be more careful – I poisoned a senator that way." He chuckled.

Echo looked like he was seriously considering murdering Charlie, but the aggression neutralized the second Bravo stood. Although Bravo was certain that he was not as charismatic as Alpha, he did seem to have a quieting effect on the men. Perhaps it had something to do with his position as second-in-command. It probably had more to do with the icy glare he gave the two men and the obvious sidearm beneath his coat.

Alpha was quick to seize the moment of silence. "Alright boys, listen up." He rotated the laptop slightly, so that it was clearly visible. There was a still image on it that had been taken from a high angle. It clearly showed a slender young woman with short black hair exiting a motel. Her face was fully visible; ironically, she had been looking over her shoulder. "This is our target."

Alpha turned to Sierra. The smaller man, who until that moment had been tasting his beer suspiciously, reached over and tapped a few keys. A passport photo and agent details came up beside the picture. "I did multiple scans, and they all came up positive – it's her. She stayed at a hotel a couple weeks ago – the hotel manager turned her in when he saw the poster the CIA sent out. It took me a while, but I found her – she's in the same city, just on the other side of it."

Charlie walked over and read part of the file as Sierra recited the address of the apartment building.. "Lied to the program chief _directly_? Tut, tut – you've made some bad decisions, honey."

"That part is none of our business." Alpha responded. "Now, this is how we're going to grab her…"

Alpha began to outline their plan. The pack listened intently – or, at least most of them did. Bravo felt his attention diverted when he glanced over to where the computer screen had been placed. Echo was staring at the image on the screen, his eyes fixated on the slender body. The beginnings of a perverted smile was showing on his face,

Disgust unlike anything Bravo had ever known overwhelmed him. In the back of his mind, a random fact that he had noticed earlier connected – the target was around the same age that his daughter would have been, had she been alive. The connecting of the knowledge to the situation was all that it took to push the man over the edge.

Suddenly, he was across the room, knocking Echo out of his chair. Bravo aimed a heavy blow at the younger man's nose. It was deflected and he was kicked across the room. Both men were on their feet and drawing their guns at the same time.

"You want to take this outside, old man?" Echo snapped, panting.

"With pleasure." Bravo growled thunderously, and prepared to disarm his opponent. But his lunge was suddenly cut off.

Alpha quickly forced him to drop the gun, and then turned to Charlie, who had Echo in a stranglehold. "You men cool down! Do I have to send you for little time-outs?" He snarled angrily. "Christ! I'd say I was dealing with children if I hadn't known better!'

Bravo growled, but lowered his eyes in respect and slumped his shoulders in submission. He shouldn't have attacked so fast. Echo was an ally, not an enemy. Alpha frowned, turning to Echo and Charlie. "Charlie, we need him, regrettable as it might be. Release him."

Charlie loosened his hold with a sigh. "He was turning such an interesting shade of purple…"

Alpha turned his piercing glare on Echo. "And you keep your pants in place. When we've grabbed her, I don't want to see you anywhere remotely near her. We're assassins, not rapists. If you fail to honour that, I will personally arrange a cute little accident for you. Do I make myself fully and completely clear?"

Echo nodded, cool and distant once again. Alpha gave them both one last glare, and then continued with the plan. This time, all of the pack listened intently. The chase was on, and these men were the best of hunters.

_

* * *

_

She was lying on her side on a concrete floor, in a dried pool of her own blood. A mouse scurried past, stopping as if to pity the broken, bruised girl. Nicky felt although she could use it. All of her energy was devoted to praying to a God she hadn't really believed in before, asking that if He was there, that He could make them believe the lie that she had told. That they wouldn't check it out. That they wouldn't hurt her anymore. Jason had always told her that He existed…he was a devout catholic, and she could only hope that he was right…

_She heard the heavy feet coming up the staircase and knew that a miracle couldn't help her now. The mouse's whiskers twitched, as if in apology, before it ran away as the door blew open. _

_Riley looked like he was going to kill her. She hoped that he would. But instead, he grabbed her by the front of her ragged shirt and pinned her against a wall. His usually cold eyes were on fire. "You pathetic little bitch." He snarled. "Did you really think that I would fall for that?"_

_Nicky would have been crying at this point, had it not been for the drained sensation that she had been feeling for several days now. The only thing she felt was fear and despair. "Just kill me…" She whispered. "…please just kill me…"_

_Riley's expression twisted into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile. "Sorry kid."_

_Then Nicky felt her small body being tossed across the room._

Nicky sat straight up, shaking all over and covered in a cold sweat. For a moment, she sat perfectly still, her mind still stuck in a warehouse in Paris. Then she curled into a ball, burying her face in her hands and swearing with a vigor she hadn't known for years. "I had it under control, Goddamnit!"

Eventually, the shaking and panic subsided. Exhausted, Nicky looked at her bedside clock. It was 9:04 – she'd been sleeping for three hours. Sleep loss had taken its toll. She massaged her temples and tried to think. _Why did they come back? I had those memories under lock and key…sleep loss. That's it. You're just too tired and too paranoid, Nicky._

She threw a pillow at the wall out of pent up frustration. Something about the violent act, no matter how small, snapped her out of the panic attack. She got up and walked to the little kitchen. The apartment was completely black, and she could barely see where she was going.

Nicky was reaching for the light switch when something stopped her. Something was wrong.

Out of nowhere, her adrenaline was surging through her veins and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her mind flashed to a game she had played in high school drama class, called Thief and Guard. The two players were blindfolded and spun around to disorient them. One had to find a stapler on the ground somewhere and get through the 'gate', while the other had to catch him or her. She had always been very good at it, in fact she had been on of the only 'thieves' to win. So it was this 'sixth sense' that informed her that, even in the dark where she couldn't see, there was someone standing behind her.

Nicky was already in motion when the intruder moved behind her. A hand, meant to snatch her arm, merely brushed her shoulder as she ran. Her heart pounded. A deep male voice growled behind her and she felt him come after her. Unable to think of anything else to do, she went for the door, just visible in the moonlight..

She skidded to a stop and pulled on the handle. It was locked, of course. "Fucking chain!" She snarled out loud as she franticly pulled at the failsafe security device.

An arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her backwards. Nicky fought back, but the limb was unstoppable. It pulled her back into a wall of solid muscle.

Cold metal against her skull. Nicky knew what it was the second it touched her. Every muscle in her body tensed, and then went limp. There was no way out. She was dead. Nicky closed her eyes and waited for the sound that would end her short, traumatized life.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the gun jerked.

"Bang."

The voice was cold. Emotionless. And very familiar.

Suddenly, the stunned woman was thrown against a wall. The attacker had her by the shoulder, and had just enough weight on her that she couldn't get away.

Not that she was going to try.

Before her astonished eyes, the man moved into the light, throwing his face into sharp detail. His piercing eyes met hers as he pocketed the gun.

"For Christ's sake, Nicky," Jason Bourne hissed, looking angrier than she had seen him since Berlin, "You didn't even _scream_."

**

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I hereby take no responsibility for any heart attacks, strokes, or other panic related reactions that may be caused by this chapter. That's totally your fault. :D

**Whew, finally got it done! No worries, I am just taking my time in uploading because of homework, horses, and social life. I am enjoying having no writers block very much :D**


	5. The Wolf Pack from Hell

**ATTENTION! THERE HAS BEEN A MAJOR UPDATE TO CHAPTER 3! YOU MUST READ IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS, IT CHANGES THE PLOT SLIGHTLY. I had meant to change it a while ago, but never really got around to it. But now it's there, and you guys need to read it. It's just the Bourne scene, where he has a flashback. It's been changed significantly It's kinda the initial incident, so it's pretty important :D I'm gonna be making some more, less significant changes to the previous chapters as well: mostly fixing grammar mistakes and giving Danny Zorn his name back. Also,you guys may have noticed I changed the story description to her second big mistake being forgetting to scream. I'm gonna try and tie that in as well, Nicky's such a quiet girl that I have little difficulty seeing that being a problem for her. Also, after watching the Bourne series again to refresh my memory, I noticed that Nicky NEVER screams. The only time was when Bourne put the gun to her head in Supremacy. When you think about it, it doesn't really make sense: she didn't scream for help when Bourne took her in Alexanderplatz station, in Madrid when he pulled her into the room, or when Desh was chasing her (the loudest noises she made in that whole scene was a gasp, a 'whoa!' when Desh almost shot her, and the growl when she attacked Desh). I don't know about you guys, but I would have at least yelped in all those situations! So, possible mistake she's prone to? Could be.**

**Alright, now that you've gone back and read the change, welcome back to 'Left Behind'! I'm SO happy i got this chapter done!! :D I've gotta say I loved writing this chapter, my pack of assassins are so fun, I love them all. Even Echo, because everyone needs an evil sociopath to hug. :D Some technical terms that you may need to know for this chapter: to 'reduce' a body part is the same as setting it after it's been dislocated, it's just the proper term. Aside from that, not much else that needs explaing or defining. Enjoy the next chapter!!**

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* * *

**Nicky was so astonished by the sight of him that for a moment she could only stare. "W-what?" She finally managed.

"I came this close to killing you, and you don't even yell for help?" Jason was almost seething: the maddest she had seen him since Berlin. That made her nervous.

She quickly swallowed her fear and responded in a calm voice that had almost no tremor to it. "I thought that you were an asset. Screaming wouldn't have helped. How did you find me?"

He looked over his shoulder at the window, his anger evaporating as he shifted to the cold, calculating Bourne, dealing with the present situation. "I followed someone else: they found you first."

Nicky's blood ran cold. "Asset or grab team?"

"I think it's a team of assets."

"What?!" Nicky stared, dumfounded. Assets never worked in groups. That was like suggesting that politicians were totally honest. "It's gotta be a grab team."

"It's not important. Pack up, we've gotta move."

The second his weight was gone from her shoulder she was moving. A couple changes of clothes, toiletries, her laptop, money...It was all found and tossed into her bag. She had the strap over her shoulder in a little over a minute. "Okay, I'm -"

Bourne cut her off with a slicing motion. He was standing beside the window, looking through at the street but standing at an angle that he wouldn't be noticeable. He gestured for her to look outside as well, and she silently slid in beside him and looked. Four men were approaching the front door. This would not have been too unusual - Nicky's apartment building had many late night partiers that returned at about two, but these men were not drunk and laughing. There was an ominous stillness and furtiveness to their bodies that Nicky knew like the back of her hand, and they had formed a subtle, but rigid formation, revealing their leader and ranks...like the wolf pack from hell. Jason was right again: for some reason, the CIA had chosen to put a team of assets together. "Shit." She hissed out loud.

Bourne showed no change in emotion. "Are there any empty apartments?"

"Not on this floor. There's one on the floor below us, but we'd meet them on the staircase."

"That's too far anyway." He muttered, calculating endless distances. He reached into his coat and pushed a silenced handgun at her. "Here."

Nicky took the firearm from him, checked the ammunition, raised and pointed it to adjust her aim to its weight and line up with it, then lowered it and looked back at Jason, waiting for instructions.

He looked surprised - it was subtle, but more than enough for her to see it. Nicky realized that he hadn't seen her handle a gun before...Well, at least not since his amnesia.

Jason shook it off and pointed at the bathroom. "Hide there. Make damn sure it's not me you shoot, but act fast."

Nicky nodded and darted away. She purposefully didn't look for where he hid; she didn't want to accidentally give him away if she was pulled out before he was. She crouched between the counter and the toilet and waited, patient as death itself.

She didn't have long to wait.

A faint click, then a very low mechanical hum, at the front entrance made her tense up. She knew exactly what it was, although she hadn't heard it in years: a small machine that was thin enough that, when fitted through the doorway, could allow a person to close the door almost completely. With a push of a button, it would push the chain that was so frequent in apartments aside, allowing an asset to enter without any sign of forced entry. If there was any doubt that these men were high up in the intelligence community, it was gone now: those machines did not come on eBay.

Nicky could hear stealthy footsteps enter the apartment. She hunkered down, readying herself. A shadow eased into view in the doorway, just visible in the faint light from the windows.

"Clear." The voice was so close to silence that she could have imagined it, but she could still tell that it was coming from the bedroom. The shadow tensed and loomed up in the doorway. Nicky gritted her teeth.

There was a sudden loud noise and a grunt in the living room. "Not clear!"

The figure in the doorway whirled to face the opposite way, taking a step although to help his companion. Unfortunately for him, Nicky was not one to waste opportunities. She lunged for his turned back and slammed the butt of the gun into the small hollow where the neck met the back of the head. He slumped, but not without making a loud grunt of pain.

Nicky slid out from behind him, gracefully avoiding the falling body, and looked up just in time to see motion. The human brain processes motion much faster than shapes or colours, and it was only because of this that Nicky was able to scramble backwards and throw the door between her and the charging asset. He stopped it from closing with his shoulder, peering easily through the doorway as she aimed her gun at him.

"Drop the gun, sweetheart. No point, we both know it won't help" The asset growled. Nicky bit her lip. If she dropped the gun, she was helpless. She was utterly trapped.  
_...or am I?_ She noted his position in relation to the bathroom lights.

With a shaky sigh, she let the gun clatter to the ground, placing her hands behind her head. The asset took a step forward, kicking away the gun and reaching for her elbow. "Good girl. C'mere honey, I'm not gonna hurt you." Nicky's skin crawled at the sinister voice. The tone was all-too familiar. The hand grasped her elbow and tugged her forward. She tamely followed, then whirled and hit the light switch with her other elbow, flooding the room with bright, fluorescent light. Nicky had shut her eyes the moment she made her move, but she still winced at the light that came through her eyelids, her eyes completely accustomed to the pitch black. The asset had less luck. His grip had worked against him, turning him directly towards the lights. She could hear him yowl with pain and felt his grip loosen. She twisted away and bolted, opening her eyes only when she was out of the bathroom.

In the living room, Bourne wrestled with two assets, one slender and blonde, the other well built and dark skinned. She watched him fight for a moment, trying to evaluate whether or not he needed her help. She decided not when she heard a bone crack and one of the assets yowl with pain.

A noise behind her caught he attention. Nicky turned in time to see the asset stumble out of the light, murder in his eyes. The fight or flight decision was the easiest choice she had ever made. Nicky bolted, the asset hot on her heels. Dimly, it registered in her head that he should have pulled a gun and shot her by now. But there was no time for reflection as she dashed through the little hallway that was her kitchen. Then, without warning, she folded her legs and crumpled to the ground, rolling into a ball. As predicted, the asset did not have nearly enough time or space to brake, and tripped over her body at full speed. His head collided with the table with a solid _thunk_, and hit the floor.

Nicky pushed herself up with some difficulty: the tile floor was not very forgiving, and her own landing had been pretty hard. She looked up to see her opponent pushing himself up as well, blood starting to seep from his head where he had hit the edge of the table. Nicky knew he would not be happy with her. She stumbled backwards: straight into a wall of muscle, equipped with arms that immediately grabbed her and held her immobile. The asset she had hit with the gun had woken up.

Now she knew she was in trouble. She could possibly fend off one asset for a brief amount of time, but two was out of the question. She was definitely over her head.

_Scream, Nicky._

"Bourne!" She yelped, squirming in the asset's grip. Immediately, she heard the combat in the next room intensify as Bourne attempted to end it so that he could come to her rescue.

The asset she had blinded, then tripped, had stood. He was only a bit taller than her, with black hair and grey eyes that now held an ugly look. "Little bitch." He snarled, glaring at her.

Figuring that actions spoke louder than words, Nicky spat in his face.

He moved to strike her, but was stopped as the asset holding her released one of her arms to stop him…which was exactly what she needed. Nicky twisted away, her shoes finding traction on the floor and propelling her forwards. At the exact same time, the taller asset pulled back on her arm with terrific force. The opposing forces were more than what her shoulder could handle, and with a loud crunch, the joint dislocated.

Nicky was flung back to the floor, crying out in pain. Gripping her shoulder, she looked up at the two men who stood over her prone form.  
The one who had grabbed her looked over forty - old for an asset, she fuzzily noticed - with green eyes, and was clearly angry with the younger one. "Hold your goddamned temper! You almost let her get away!"

Ignoring him, the shorter asset kneeled beside her. "Aw, did you hurt your shoulder honey? Let me kiss it better." he grinned sadistically.

Nicky prepared to break his nose.

Suddenly, a third man appeared, pushing over the shorter one and aiming a gun at the older. To her surprise, both assets backed off. The two men Bourne had been fighting, one holding his wrist in an awkward manner, appeared behind them.

There was a moment of terse silence. Then all four men retreated.

For a moment Bourne didn't move. Then he glanced down at her. "You hurt?"

"Not badly." Nicky knew that telling him about the shoulder was unnecessary and would only distract him. She could handle it herself for now.

He stayed still for another moment. Then he reached down and helped her up. "C'mon."

Nicky grabbed her bag out of the bathroom, and then followed him out. "Why did they retreat? They had the upper hand." Nicky whispered, a bit dumbfounded by the night's events.

"None of them were armed. They planned to take you alive; the leader must have had the guns put away to make sure that happened."

"Alive?" That didn't help her confusion. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know." Those words, coming from Jason, were worse than anything else he could have said. She pushed her burning shoulder out of her thoughts and followed him down the stairs, out a back fire exit. Jason had clearly disabled the alarm, and they got out with minimal difficulty. His car was parked close, but inconspicuously. However, the walk there made her feel exposed: just because the pack wasn't armed in the apartment didn't mean that they didn't have guns stored in a vehicle nearby. Bourne seemed to be thinking along the same lines: he took her arm (the uninjured one, thankfully) in a firm grip, leading her forwards to the car. Nicky wondered how he figured guiding her would protect them.

They got to the car without attracting attention, to her surprise, and even managed to pull away without the Wolf Pack from Hell showing up. But Nicky's eyes were constantly darting around, looking for any kind of disturbance. Jason took a confusing, winding route away, doing his best to shake off any tails.

After about half an hour of traveling in this manner, Jason swerved into an alley behind an abandoned building and swiftly turned off the ignition. For a few minutes, the two of them sat and listened intently for any kind of threat - sirens, car engines, gunshots... anything to signal that they were in danger.

Finally, after several minutes, Jason relaxed. They were in no immediate danger. Too exhausted to try anymore, Nicky allowed the burning pain from her shoulder to occupy her attention, wincing as she realized just how much it hurt.

Jason turned to her, and she saw him tense up as he read her posture and saw that something was wrong. A second later, he sighed. "Nicky, don't you think you should have told me that you were injured when I asked, rather than now?"

"It wasn't necessary."

"Yes it was. What if they had come back?"

"Then I would have been an even more obvious target - the fact that I was hurt would reflect in your posture."

"And if they chased us in the car?"

"Then it wouldn't have mattered."

"Untrue. I could have handed you a gun and told you to shoot at them."

"I'm left-handed."

"Oh." For one incredible moment, Jason had no answer. "You still should have mentioned it." he grunted as he motioned for her to take off her jacket, then pushed up her sleeve. He studied her shoulder for a moment, then looked at her. "It's dislocated. I'll have to reduce it."

She gritted her teeth. "Okay."

Jason nodded. "Get into the backseat and lay down. Bad shoulder out."

Nicky complied, now favoring her injured arm, not wanting to hurt it any further. Jason followed her in her door and knelt on one of the floorboards as she settled down on her back. He reached over her and grabbed the middle seatbelt, winding it around her chest, just below her arms, and then buckling it up into the other buckle, pulling it as tight as he could. "How tight is that?"

"Pretty damn tight."

"Good. It needs to be."

He bent her elbow so her forearm was at a 90 degree angle from her body, and gently took the elbow in his other hand and pulled the arm away from her body. Nicky shut her eyes, gritting her teeth slightly – contrary to popular belief, having a shoulder reduced was not as painful as the injury itself. If the pain increased, it was a bad sign. However, she was concentrating less on the pain and more on the warm hands on her arm...she mentally growled at herself and refocused.

Jason gently rotated her arm on the shoulder joint, moving it slowly back and forth, maintaining steady tension. Finally, the shoulder slid back into place with a heavy crunch. Fighting against the throbbing pain that was slowly receding, Nicky massaged the offending shoulder, slowly moving it, re-gaining mobility.

She looked up and was surprised to see Jason staring at her like she was some kind of freak. "What?"

He shook his head, her voice snapping him out of it. "Nothing. I expected you would make more noise."

"I'm more of an introvert when it comes to pain." she responded, continuing to rub her shoulder.

"Only pain?" The comeback was so unexpected, she nearly jumped. She looked back at him, and for only a second, she saw the old Jason - teasing her, desperately hoping for a smile or better yet, a laugh. But it was gone as soon as it was there, replaced by that damned blank, confused look. He had said it but didn't know why. Sighing inwardly, Nicky returned her attention to her sore shoulder.

She stifled a yawn. Jason noticed. "Are you tired?"

"Not really." She lied.

"It's one o'clock in the morning. Yes you are."

He had won this time. She nodded blearily, wincing at the memory of the nightmares. "Okay, I'll rest, but I probably won't sleep." She rolled onto her side, facing the seat, and curled up slightly. She closed her eyes as Jason returned to the driver's seat.

She was asleep before he even started the ignition.

* * *

Bravo had never heard a group of five men make less noise.

It was unacceptable, of course. This was easily the greatest failure any of them had ever faced, and it had been very evident in the half hour they had spent speeding around the city, looking for the targets. Not only had they failed to bring in the girl, they had lost both targets. Absolutely everything had gone wrong.

Now they were sitting in the house, silent and not looking at each other.

Alpha's cell phone buzzed. He didn't have to speak; everyone knew who it was, and what it meant: Calling it in. Admitting they failed.

The man punched the answer button with difficulty that had little to do with his sprained wrist, and switched the phone to speaker. "This is Alpha."

"Evening. I assume you have the girl in captivity?"

Alpha winced although he had taken a blow. "No, sir."

Silence. Then, in a disgusting, dubious voice, "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that."

"We didn't get her." The words looked like they caused Alpha physical pain.

"Remind me...how many of you did I send?"

"Five, sir."

"And she eluded all five of you?"

"No, sir. The second target was hidden in her apartment. They were waiting for us."

There was a deadly silence on the other end. "And you five were duped by a pair of targets?"

"We expected zero resistance."

"Damn fool!" the controller raged, spewing obscenities at Alpha, who listened to it all, unmoving.

Bravo, however, had hit the end of his rope. The controller was supposed to be calm and professional at all times, not an arrogant slimeball swearing at his team leader. He picked up the phone on the table. "Shut up and think of a different way to complete the task, _sir_." He put it back down.

Silence. All of the assets were staring at him. Challenging a superior was definitely on an asset's 'Never Do if You Want to Survive' list, and Bravo certainly seemed like the one least likely to do such a thing. He barely noticed. He was waiting for a response, another plan.

Finally one came. "Just kill the goddamn targets and make sure the bodies are never found. Is that clear enough for you, Bravo?"

"Yes sir. Much more so, sir."

The phone disconnected. Bravo finally met the eyes of his teammates. "A superior doesn't speak to his subordinates like that. Even when they fall flat on their faces." Then he stood and left, having given his explanation.

Sierra finished setting Alpha's sprained wrist, then returned to the computers he had been manning, mapping out new possible methods, Alpha watching over his shoulder. Echo drifted over to the couch, deep in thought. Charlie walked out the door, calling over his shoulder that he was going to grab a bit more food.

As soon as he was outside, he felt better. He loved night time. It felt safer and more closed. A perfect time for stealth. He walked up the street to a gas station and quickly purchased a few various snacks before slipping out the door and walking into a telephone booth. He picked up the receiver and inserted a quarter into the machine. He dialed a bunch of random digits, at the same time letting a cell phone slip out of his sleeve and on top of the receiver. He lifted the receiver to his face, balancing the cell phone in between. As he subtly disconnected the payphone, he held down a button on his phone and recited a number he had memorized a few weeks ago. As the phone dialed itself, he stole a quick look in the glass. From all angles, the illusion was perfect: it looked although he was making the call on the payphone, an unsecured line, and someone talking on an unsecured line was not up to anything.

The phone only rang once before it was picked up. "Code in."

"Squarepants." Charlie had to smile: he had chosen the code word. No one could guess something so idiotic.

The line transferred, then picked up by a familiar voice. "What's the prognosis?"

"Didn't get her: He was waiting in her living room. Knew we were coming."

There was a sigh on the other end. "Where are they now?"

"Your guess is as good as mine: we went in unarmed, we retreated to grab some weapons, and they must have run faster than we thought they could."

"How did Wills take it?"

"Like a sniveling five-year-old, as expected. Bravo's sure got a set of balls on him, he picked up the phone and told him to, quote 'shut up and think of a different way to complete the task'."

"Jesus."

"My sediments exactly." Charlie shifted. "We were told to kill the targets and make sure the bodies are never found. No specifications. Any changes to my orders?"

There was pause as the person on the other end thought. Charlie waited patiently. Finally, speech came through. "Keep me informed. Your orders stand."

"Yes ma'am. You owe me twenty-five cents."

Charlie carefully hung up the dead receiver and the cell phone at the same time, raising no suspicions. Then he headed back to the house, whistling cheerfully and erasing the call history on his phone.

* * *

Thousands of miles away, Pamela Landy hung up her phone and sighed. "Godspeed, David." She muttered.

* * *

**Oh_HO_! What is this that Charlie is up to? And what are his orders? Where will Nicky and Bourne go from here, and could they possibly have to socially interact? Why does Sierra never do anything cool? (Ok, that one I can tell you for this chapter, it's because he was sitting in the van watching out for cops/angry ex-assassins and monitoring the security cameras) All if these questions will be further intensified but not answered NEXT on Left Behind!!!!!! Well? Was it kinda worth the wait? Kinda? Leave reviews for me to hug and feel happy about, they attract chapter 6! Oh, and no, you can't have Charlie. He's mine. _MINE._**


	6. On the Road Again

**My God! Another chapter! I apologize for the stupidly long wait, I just finished my first year of university and I've been to busy to even breath, let alone write. I had written half of this chapter right after I published the 5th chapter, it's only now that I've gotten my act together and finished it off. The good news is, we are now 60% through the story! 6 of the 10 planned chapters are done, and the 7th chapter will be very quick to finish off, considering the main scene in it was written...God, it must be years ago now, and that was how the whole fanfic started: a quick scene that I wrote and then started expanding on.**

**But yes, in any case. The sixth chapter has cometh! This one isn't as action-packed as the last ones, I apologize for that, but we get lots of interaction between Nicky and Jason, and a whole lot of car scenes. Actually, I just realized every scene in this chapter is inside a car. I will shut up now, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

_Jason Bourne was walking along a beach. It was foggy, but there was so much light and warmth that he did not mind. He saw a figure walking towards him, and squinted to see better. It was non-threatening, small and slender. It wasn't until he could see the blonde hair and the tattoo on her shoulder that he recognized her._

_Jason sprinted across the last few feet separating them and pulled Marie into his arms. To his relief, she did not disappear, but kissed him back. Somewhere, a part of him sadly acknowledged that he was dreaming, but he didn't care. Just for a moment, he had her back._

_A small noise interrupted his perfect moment. He ignored it, but then a slightly louder one came: like a sob. He pulled away from Marie for a moment, wondering if she was crying. She was not, but the quiet sobbing continued. It wasn't obnoxious, but heartbreakingly sad. Confused, Jason looked over his shoulder._

_Directly behind him, as if his back was in a completely different place than his front, was a concrete room. Blood covered the floor, and there were smudged handprints on the walls, as if someone had tried to climb out and failed. There was a bare light bulb attached to the ceiling, but somehow the light did not quite reach the edges of the room: in the shadows, movement and outlines of figures were just noticeable. On the floor, in the middle of the chaos, was a small, shivering body. As he watched, its head raised to look at him, a pair of tortured eyes begging for help._

_Suddenly, he realized that Marie could see all this horror as well. He whirled to shield her from the darkness, afraid he would turn to find her gone. To his intense relief, she and the beach were still there, as untouched as ever. However, the look of joy on her face had been replaced with a look of quiet knowing, and a touch of sadness. "Jason," She whispered. "You have to let go."_

_"No." He shook his head stubbornly. "No, I can't...I can't, it was my fault...I love you." With these words, the quiet sobs behind him escalated into a wail of pain._

_Marie's soft eyes held his gaze, powerful in their own way. "I don't need to be protected anymore, Jason." Her soft hands wrapped around his shoulders, and spun him around with surprising force. The frail body on the floor had put its head down, and Jason had a feeling that it was dying._

_Marie's voice whispered in his ear. "She needs you now." Then he was pushed forwards._

Jason bolted upright in a cold sweat. He looked around, panting, for a moment, then leaned backwards against his seat. He was in the drivers seat of the car he had used to escape Marina, which was subtly parked in the County Fair Grounds in Paso Robels. It was about five in the morning now, he had slept for a good three hours or so. He sighed: he had finally got some sleep. That was good.

Suddenly, a sobbing noise cut through the air. Jason jumped and whirled to look in the backseat, half expecting to see a bloodstained prison. Instead he saw Nicky curled up, her face twisted into a frown and body quaking, clearly in the grip of a nightmare. As he watched, she whimpered, rolling and clamping her arms over her head. His ears, sharp from years of picking up even the subtlest of noise, could pick out a few words amongst the sobs, the most used phrases being "I swear I don't know!" and "Please!" His gut suddenly twisted as he realized that she had used the same phrases when he had pushed her to the ground and held a gun to her head in Berlin. No sooner had he wondered if the dream involved him, she violently kicked out and cried out, "Just kill me!"

_He's standing over a screaming, thrashing girl sleeping on his couch, shaking her and trying to wake her up. She bolts awake just as she screams "Just kill me!" They stare at each other for a second, and then he pulls her into his chest, stroking her hair as she cries into his shoulder. He glares straight out the window over her, wishing he could kill something._

Jason blinked the sudden flashback away, trying to focus. Nicky was still thrashing, and suddenly he didn't want to watch anymore. He leaned over the seat and grabbed her shoulder.

Her eyes flew open.

A pair of feminine hands, powerful with adrenaline, grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. Reacting on instinct, he jumped into it and within seconds had her pinned to the backseat, straddling her abdomen and holding down her wrists. The small woman yelped and fought back, but to no avail. Jason calmly held her down, looking into her eyes. They weren't fully awake yet; she was still trapped in her own head. "Nicky. Wake up."

Finally she shook herself out of it, and stared at him. Then, in perhaps a bit sharper of a voice than she intended, "What the hell are you doing?"

Jason suddenly realized that he was straddled over her, holding her down. He quickly released her, "You attacked me, I reacted." He defended.

Nicky sat up. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Jason could see she was just as embarrassed as he was. Avoiding his eyes, she looked around. "W-where are we?"

"Paso Robel: about two hours away from Los Angeles." Jason responded, getting out of the backseat and walking around to the driver's, as Nicky did the same on the other side. Jason steered the car out of the parking lot, Nicky staring out of the window at the faint glow on the east horizon.

The awkward silence in the vehicle was so thick that Jason - the man who lived and breathed silence - was seriously considering firing off a round to break it. As he began to contemplate the positive and negative outcomes of actually doing it, a quiet voice spoke up from beside him. "Why did you come and find me?"

Jason stayed quiet for a moment now that the awkwardness had somewhat passed, considering how much he should tell her. Finally, he settled on the truth. "I remembered a few things... from before Treadstone. I thought you might be able to help figure them out."

Nicky blinked. "We didn't really know each other before Treadstone. I'm not sure how much help I'll be."

"You were in it."

Nicky stayed quiet for a moment. Finally, she spoke up. "What was in the memory?"

Jason revisited the image. "I'm stationed somewhere, and there's a man with me. About my age, red hair, I call him Rob. He's talking to a girl over a webcam." His eyes shifted to her. "You."

There was nothing hugely different about her facial expression or body posture to suggest that he had hit a nerve, but he could see her eyes and the sudden emotion that blazed through them. It was there and gone in the same period of time as a lightning flash, but that was long enough. Jason backed off slightly, focusing on the road; she wouldn't say anything if he pushed her too hard. Nicky stayed totally still for a moment, then leaned back, clearly deep in thought. "Do you remember the conversation?" She finally asked, quietly.

"No. Only him apologizing: the webcam wasn't working properly." Another flash of recognition. She knew exactly what he was talking about, all that was left was a matter of coaxing it out of her.

She stayed silent for some time, perhaps waiting for assassins to return and save her from answering the question. Or perhaps coming up with a story. Finally, she sighed. "His name was Robert. I was doing a project on soldier psychology for university; He was a friend of a friend and I had met him a couple times before. I got a hold of him and asked if I could interview him, and he let me. The webcam was necessary for me to see his expressions and body language." she explained quietly. She paused. "I had been first approached about Treadstone that morning." She added almost to herself.

Jason looked at her. She looked quiet, reflective, pondering past mistakes. He would have felt close to her, had it not been for the fact that she was lying to him. The story about the interview, although perfectly conceivable, was completely false. Nicky was talented at lying, years of service in the intelligence community had made sure of that, but Jason was even better at deciphering truth: years on the run had made sure of that. The cold, dispassionate way in which she told the story, not to the explanation itself, contradicted that brief flash of expression he had caught. When a given explanation and a break in self-control conflicted, the break was always the truth: Lies were either openly passionate or cold and impersonal. A part of him wanted to pull over the car and force her to talk to him, but allies of Jason Bourne were an endangered species and he had no wish to escalate that particular status to extinction. "Do you know where he is today?"

Nicky drew her knees up to her chest. "Yes: buried in a military graveyard outside of New York." Her voice was sad, and this time he knew it was the truth.

Jason felt himself sink a bit. He had been counting on talking to this 'Rob'. He was all he remembered of David Webb and the sole link to the only question he had left to chase: why in the Hell had he volunteered for Treadstone if he knew exactly what it meant for him? He couldn't have been stupid enough to not know that he would be taking American lives more than he would be saving them. _So why? Why become Jason Bourne?_

He looked over at her. She was looking past the windshield, eyes moving slightly, clearly deep in thought. He turned his eyes to the road and waited for her to speak.

* * *

Nicky was in something of a state of shock. He could remember Rob. That was baaaad badbadbad. He probably at least suspected that she had lied, if he wasn't already completely aware of it. How much more could he remember? Had he remembered Riley? If Rob was the only thing that he could remember from before Treadstone, than she was in trouble. He was going to be dead set on finding out the truth, whatever it was.

But how much did he know? Nicky glanced over at him. He looked to be focused on the road, but she could see that he was looking past it. Might as well give it a shot. "Did you find anything in New York?"

"Found out my name isn't Jason." He answered curtly.

_Oh yeah._ "I saw...on the news. They called you David Webb and said that you had fallen six stories into the Manhattan river."

"Got it right, for once."

Nicky chewed her lip. "Did...did you find out who was behind it all?"

"Vosen. White. Myself." He changed gears, face set. "I volunteered."

Nicky's entire digestive system flipped. _Oh my God, he does know._ She examined his face as subtly as possible. Wait. Maybe he didn't. "Why?" She asked, sounding as disbelieving as possible.

Jason stared out the windshield. "I was hoping Robert could tell me."

If Nicky had been behind an opaque, soundproof wall, she would have collapsed with relief. He didn't know. She kept up her emotional shield, "Oh. There must be someone with answers, it couldn't have been just you and him in that platoon. You'll find out."

Jason tossed a sideways glance at her. _He suspects something._ she quickly averted her gaze, trying to think. He would make her talk to him sooner or later. She closed her eyes and fought the dread welling up in her stomach. Good thing she had slept earlier: she wouldn't be getting any more.

* * *

Jason wasn't sure what to do. Nicky had information he needed to know, and she probably knew it too. Something had happened to him to make him want to chase Treadstone, and he knew he couldn't rest without knowing what. And now Nicky's involvment was becoming more pronounced: her face on the webcam, the cryptic 'it was difficult for me' hint she had dropped, and now the memory of her waking up from a nightmare on his couch. Her role in his life was clearly a large one, but he still couldn't understand what it was. He needed to chat with her, but he could see now wasn't the time. Glancing over at her, everything about her posture was closed: crossed arms, knees drawn in, chin drawn slightly towards her chest, and rolled slightly towards the door, away from him. In all, a crystal clear message he wasn't getting another peep out of her tonight. He turned his gaze back to the road, a little angry that she was clamming up and not helping him, but trying to think of reasons behind the silence. _Something about Robert must be painful, and she doesn't want to discuss it. Or maybe something in her past in general._

He put on his turn signal to merge onto the freeway. _I need to find out where "just kill me" came from._

* * *

About a mile ahead of them, a series of electrical impulses inside an old cell phone signalled an alarm, causing it to buzz softly in it's owner's pocket. The alarm could have been easily written off as white noise, but even in his sleep, Bravo recognized the sound and opened his eyes. It was 5:59 am. Perfect timing.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and turned off the alarm, stretching and yawning. He was strapped into the passenger seat in the van, which was hurtling down the freeway towards Los Angeles. Shortly after the controller's call, Sierra pulled up a traffic cam that put the two targets on Freeway 101 - which ran through Los Angeles. All five of them had leapt into the van after the targets: Alpha had figured that if they drove non-stop, they might be able to get to the city before the targets did. Alpha was driving now, but he was looking over his shoulder slightly at the seats behind them.

Bravo was instantly suspicious. Out of all the assets in the group, he slept the best...and the deepest, causing him to become something of a target for Charlie. He quickly turned in his seat as Charlie suddenly popped up from behind his seat, equipped with a pot, a loaded handgun magazine, and a grin that immediately fell as he saw Bravo's face. "Oh. You're awake."

Bravo tapped his phone. "Set an alarm." He couldn't fail to see the irony: he had killed countless men without so much as batting an eye, and yet he almost felt guilt at the comical, yet genuine look of disappointment on the on the other asset's face. He pointed at Sierra, whom was snoring away in the seat behind him. "But he didn't."

The grin returned instantly. "Bravo, out of all the cold-hearted assassins in this group, you are my favourite." He unloaded the bullets from the magazine into his hand, and almost silently placed them in the pot, covering it with the lid. Charlie leaned forwards until the pot was directly over Sierra's head, all the while humming something that sounded a suspicious amount like the 'Jaws' theme. Then he shook the bullet-laden pot as violently as he could.

Bravo watched in amusement as a now wide-awake and very angry Sierra fought to cause the hysterically laughing Charlie serious injury past his seatbelt, as Echo watched with a cold look of distain behind them. "Alpha, I believe we are all awake."

Alpha looked over his shoulder with an equally amused look. "Let's go over the plan one more time. Sierra, release Charlie and start your computer." Sierra reluctantly released Charlie from the headlock and pulled out the slim laptop, booting it up as Charlie strapped himself into the seat on the other side of the van, snorting.

Alpha began to outline the plan as Sierra pulled up a map of the Los Angeles area. "The targets will most likely head for the city center: lots of crowds to blend into and places to hide. Finding them, naturally, will be fairly difficult: Target A was an asset himself and knows how to be invisible. So, we'll be splitting up once we reach the city. Sierra, you will set up in the safehouse set up by the controller, and throw a net over the whole area. The rest of us are going to spread out across the city and patrol as subtly as possible. Charlie, you will stay in the downtown area; Echo, the industrial district; Bravo, the apartment developments to the west; and I will handle the hotel area. If any one of us, including Sierra, find even just one of them, inform everyone of the location via text message. The asset closest to their location will tail them until the rest of us arrive. If Target A and B or only Target A are found, our priority is to terminate. However, if only Target B is found, first tail her to see if she leads us to Target A. If she is clearly alone, or becomes aware of the tail, then it's back to plan A: capture her alive. Should this happen, she is to be brought to the safehouse. Remember, we want Target A to know we've taken her, so we can expect an attack on the safehouse soon after. Terminate them both as soon as Target A is revealed, and remember, discretion is everything." Alpha's black eyes surveyed them. "Questions?"

Silence reverberated around the vehicle as each man considered his orders and his plans. "Have your phones on vibrate and on your person at all times. Make sure we do not fail this time." He growled, glaring over his shoulder at them.

Bravo pulled out his gun in response, and started checking it over. The pack was more than ready to hunt.

* * *

The trip from Marina to Los Angeles was 264.04 miles long. Luckily, she had slept through about 150 of them, or else Nicky figured she would have lost her mind. Neither she nor Jason had so much as coughed since they had left Paso Robel, and there was obvious tension between them although, thankfully, not really enough to make her overly uncomfortable. Now they were driving into Los Angeles, and Nicky was orientating herself in the new surroundings as the sun slowly cleared the eastern horizon. She didn't mind the enormous city feeling; it reminded her of New York, her beloved home.

Finally, she turned to Jason. "What's our plan?"

Jason shifted gears, looking up at some of the buildings. "We're going to blend in here for a day. I need to contact Landy and see what's happening."

Nicky blinked. "Have you had contact with Landy? I would have thought she'd be underground by now."

"She is: NSA and the Secret Service." Jason's blunt reply explained a surprising amount: if both of those agencies were involved, the CIA would be completely locked out. "President extended protection in return for selling out BlackBriar."

"But not to you."

It was more of a statement then a question, but Jason gave her a look that almost could have been a smile. "If they can't even find me, I probably don't need their protection."

Nicky inclined her head. "Point taken."

They drove for a few minutes in silence. Suddenly, Jason pulled a right turn into a parking lot and stopped the car. Alarmed, Nicky looked over her shoulder at the road. "Are we being followed?"

"Not to my knowledge." Jason answered, pulling the car into park and turning off the ignition. "But I need you to answer a question before they catch up, and I would rather not be distracted for the answer." Nicky had a sinking feeling as his piercing blue eyes turned to her. There was a pause, then, "When you fell asleep earlier, you started screaming 'just kill me' in your sleep. I remembered being in Paris, you sleeping on my couch and doing the same thing. Where did that come from?"

Nicky slowly let the air that had been saved in her lungs. Those memories might be painful, but it was nothing compared to what she had thought he was going to ask. "That...that was from something that happened in my first year of working for Treadstone. Your first year too." She bit her lip. "It's a long story."

Jason gestured to the dashboard. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nicky ran a hand through her hair. _Just start from the beginning, Nicky. _"There was a rogue agent, Connor Reily, who had a nervous breakdown and defected from the CIA, hired five mercenaries and started going after Treadstone assets. He was going to be in Paris, and Conklin made me tail him because I looked young enough to pass for a teenager." She saw a flash of recognition in Jason's eyes and looked up. "Remember something?"

"When I was in India, I remembered arguing with Conklin about a woman. I only remembered part of it, but I said that she looks like a teenager because she still was one."

Nicky nodded slowly. That made sense. "You told me after it happened that you had tried to talk him out of it. That must be it." He nodded at her to continue. "Reily showed up, but he knew exactly who I was and everything went wrong. You had followed me and you took out a few of his men, but they got me anyway. Reily thought I knew the identities and locations of the assets."

Jason looked at her. "Did you?"

Nicky closed her eyes. "No. Not the ones he was after. But it took twenty-four hours to convince him otherwise." She took a deep breath. "They had me for three days."

Jason actually looked surprised. "Three days for the CIA to find six men with a hostage?"

"The CIA didn't find me: didn't look. Conklin changed anything I did know and could tell them, and left me to die."

Jason was obviously confused. "You escaped?"

"Not from a lack of trying, but no. You tracked them down, stormed the place, and rescued me."

His eyebrows raised. "Without Conklin's permission?"

"Yeah - believe me, he was pissed off at first, but he swept it all under the rug when he found out you killed Reily. Wrote it off as a ruse, CIA got their rogue, everyone's happy. Only bad thing was one hired gun that escaped; the police were coming and you didn't have enough time to chase him."

"Was he ever found?"

Nicky shook her head. "No: we had no record of him, I never even found out what his name was." Nicky shook her head to clear the memories that were beginning to surface. "You took me directly to your apartment and patched me up. I stayed there for a few weeks while I recovered."

"No hospital?"

Nicky shifted her weight slightly. "You hated them. So did I. And...I had panic attacks. You were the only one that could snap me out of it." She paused for a long moment "I...still have nightmares occasionally." The words sounded bitter leaving her mouth. She didn't like admitting her weaknesses.

Jason shifted. "One more question."

"Shoot."

"Why?"

Now she blinked. "Why what?"

"Why did I disobey my orders and save you? I thought assets always follow orders."

_Shit._ She focused on the laces of her shoes. "That...that was a puzzle for me too. I thought it was because I was your handler, and you didn't want to loose the one person in your life you saw regularly and didn't have to kill." She shrugged, not looking at him. "But you never told me if that was the case."

Jason looked away. She could almost hear the gears in his head whirring as he processed this new information. "Thank you."

"For what?" Nicky rubbed her forehead and screwed her eyes shut, fighting back the memories that she really did not want to see.

"For telling me."

Nicky looked up. He was looking at her with an almost soft expression. Guilt nearly swallowed her alive, and for a small second, she considered telling him the truth. But her instincts clamped down on it again, and she broke eye contact. "I owe you my life several times over. It's the least I can do."

Jason looked at her for a moment longer, and then started the car. "You're going to have to tell me the truth sometime, Nicky."

Nicky winced. Of course he knew she was lying. "You remember parts of that story, it's true."

"Yes, the story is true, but you know exactly why I thought you were more important than orders."

She could feel the blue eyes drilling burning holes into her. "...I will tell you." She finally cracked. "Just...not right now. I can't right now. But I swear will."

Jason looked at her for a moment longer, then put the car into drive and pulled out onto the road, apparently satisfied with that much.

What was she afraid of? Him being angry? Yelling at her? It wasn't like that hadn't happened before. No, she realized. She was afraid he'd abandon her: walk away and leave her for the wolves. Was there actually a chance that would happen? She examined the situation mentally, and to her own terror, found that there was probably a 50/50 chance that he would just leave her behind. After all, he was trying to punish those responsible for his sad story, and she was certainly one of the guilty parties. She covered her eyes with her hand. _Well,_ she reasoned, _I swore I'd tell him the truth. I'll tell him tonight, and then at least if he does walk out I won't suffer for very long, with the pack of assets after us._

She looked over at Jason. He was scanning the streets ahead of them. "Tell me if you see any pay phones in the alleys or somewhere hidden."

"Got it." She leaned slightly more forwards and scanned around as well, glad there was something she could do for him without fearing his reaction.

* * *

**And the plot thickens once again! Who is this 'Rob' character, and what is Nicky's connection to him? Why did Bourne disobey orders to save Nicky? Why does Nicky seem to blame herself for Jason's situation? Believe or not, all these questions will be answered in Chapter 7, when all shall be revealed. Even better, I promise I won't leave you hanging for 6 months this time!**

**Normally this is the part where the author begs for reviews and other forms of love, but you guys have all been really awesome for me, despite my takes-way-too-long-to-update abuse. :D Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I promise I'll have chapter 7 up soon!**


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